Wisps of Imperfection
by Dr. Pepper's Peach
Summary: She's his mother's classmate. She's reserved, quiet, and alone. What really intrigues him are the tattoos and that red bandana she's always wearing.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner. **

**Enjoy.**

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><p>I snuggle into my comforter, burrow deeper into my pillow but it doesn't work. So I push back the covers, shivering as Chicago's chilly early morning air brushes against my near naked body, and rub my closed eyelids gently to get rid of the stinging needle-like pokes at the corner of my eyes from the lack of sleep. I'm used to it.<p>

It's still dark outside. 3:53 am. I turn off my alarm that was set for 8:00 am. I don't even know why I set the alarm anymore. I can never sleep past 5:00 am if I'm lucky. Maybe I'm just hopeful that for once, I can relax enough to sleep, that I can evade the nightmares. It's been nearly a decade since I've been trying, yet that tiny flicker of hope inside won't let me give up.

I get up, brush my teeth, and then go downstairs to make coffee.

I turn on the TV and watch _The 70s show_ reruns as my left leg bounces up and down.

4:30 am.

I finish my English assignment of comparing and contrasting Donne's "Death Be Not Proud" and Dickinson's "I felt a Funeral, in my Brain." It's due in three days, but even this early, I'll do anything but _that _to pass time. I try to stop my leg's bouncing by sitting on the carpet with my legs underneath me. I fail. My left foot starts a slow vibration to keep up the movement.

5:15 am.

I give up. Like everyday, I give up again, and go back to my bedroom, and step up on the plastic chair I keep by the wall opposite side of my bed. I take the 5B pencil from the little portable shelf attached to the wall and start drawing.

At first, it's just lines and lines of nothing forming on the white painted drywalls. Then they start to configure into a shape, and then another shape, and then another until all the lines connect underneath my hand to conform a wilted tree with nothing but thin branches, and a tiny girl standing beneath holding a small glass like figure to put on the tree. _Wish Tree. _

I grab my 3B pencil next, starting the overshadows from the bottom of the wood roots as if the sun's rising up from behind the old, nearly dead tree, casting an eerie eclipse over the looming figure of the small child. The 6B pencil is next, to cause the gray shadow of the girl. And then 1B pencil for the light shades.

My hands are gradually blackening from the charcoal pencils as I smooth out the shadows without using my small paper blending-pencils. It doesn't distract me, though, and I keep shading; adding a little more dark with the pencil and smoothing it under the girl's shadow.

I'm nearly done when my phone rings. In frustration, the lead of my 1B pencil breaks, leaving a murky dot where it shouldn't be.

I step back and take a look at the drawing. The symmetry of the shadows with the actual picture is too perfect; the shadows are too perfect; the branches are too perfect. It looks too real. In a moment of pure impulse, I run one charcoal covered fingertip over the girl and the tree, leaving a swipe of pencil lead powder in its wake. It only makes the drawing look better; the dark mess makes it look _jaded, _as if looking right into the soul of the artist. I frown in distaste at it, hating it just like all the other drawings on my wall, and close my eyes to get it away from my sight. I turn towards my bed and check my messages.

_Class is starting in 20 minutes! –AliCat_

Shit. I rummage through my closet for something presentable and without washing my hands, rush out the door with my school-set of art supplies in my leather bag and my cell-phone in hand.

School of the Art Institute of Chicago, let's hope you're better than the last Institute.

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><p><strong>Worth continuing? <strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**Warning: I write in present tense. When I use past tense, it's to show something that has already happened in the story without using **_italics_**. **

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><p>I search my wrists for a rubber band. There's always one there. I put my hair in a messy ponytail before getting out a red bandana from my bag. I fold it so it's horizontally long and then bring it behind my head, tying a little knot at the top right side of my head, keeping the bangs away from my forehead. I love that bandana. It reminds me of James.<p>

School of Art Institute of Chicago—SAIC—is one of the best Arts Institute, and with Renee leaving me a condo in The Loop, I couldn't find a reason not to go there. Yale's art program was okay, but the way the Professors parroted perfection being the key, I couldn't stay there with the thoughts of becoming just like them roaming my mind: puppets vying for praise and attention.

Drawing is a form of release, whether may it be spiritual or physical. I draw to show my perception of the world. I don't alter what I draw or how I draw just to please another. If they don't like what they see, they can move on. I won't sell myself out.

Chicago's chilly morning air has dissipated. The warmth of the sun's glow feels soothing on my skin and I take off my jacket, folding it into the crook of my arm, leaving just my black wife beater shirt on, the dark-ink tattoos on my left arm standing out proudly against my pale white skin.

I love walking through The Loop; it's one of Chicago's most beautiful sights as I see it. There's no rush on the street walks, and the buildings look like they reach the sky. I wonder if people on the top floor ever look down and wonder what those who are looking up at the buildings are thinking. There's a little ally way in the downtown part of Chicago that has street art illusions so beautifully drawn and painted that it's hard not to stare, hard not to be in awe of. I remember the first time I saw street art—James had taken me around Los Angeles's Art Meuseums and somewhere in between, we found a street that had street art illusions and I became mesmerized.

He had admired the art and the talent of it all, but he couldn't figure out why I was so enamored. To be honest, I couldn't figure out the reason for my sudden love for arts either. I used to hate drawing, hate art with passion because I could never draw. Renee, my mother, was artistically gifted and whenever I tried to draw whatever she was, I'd fail. And it made the loathing I had grow…until I that trip to LA. While James didn't understand my sudden heart change about art, he was happy that I started concentrating on other things than just books. But my grades started suffering slightly because all I could think about was drawing.

After that, I couldn't find enough paper to draw on. The pictures on the papers had been scribbles and lines and messed up faces and animals, but they were _mine. I _had drawn something; I'd done what scientists hadn't been able to do: I'd taken something out of my mind and shown it to the people around me.

I took classes in school and extra classes after school starting when I was 11. Renee started teaching me bits by bits after that, but she'd been too ill to talk too much. I got better and better up to the point when I could stand next to her and draw almost as well as her. She passed away from lung cancer just before I turned 12, and I quit every art class after that. I couldn't draw without every picture looking too perfect, looking like it was drawn by Renee. Funny how I'd wanted to draw just like she used to and when I was able to, I hated the ability.

I started having anxiety attacks after that. I talked to a nice lady in a pencil skirt and tight blouse with a yellow notepad who hit on James entirely too much but that didn't help. I started improving in class, my grades going back to their perfect A and E's for excellence because I submerged myself into work to avoid drawing pencils and materials. I tried emerging myself into reading and work and chores, but nothing helped. My left leg would bounce whenever I saw a pencil or pen and I wasn't drawing. I started waking up at odd hours of the night. With the house quiet, I'd draw on the wall above my bed, beside my bed, by the window, on every surface available. Drawing requires no thinking. I didn't have to think, so I drew more and more to get away from my thoughts, to get away from my mind. James didn't care. He was relieved that I wasn't catatonic. I didn't make friends, I barely talked anymore, and I didn't take any drawing classes, but when I drew, I was _alive. _

I met Emmett online on DeviantArt. I hadn't uploaded anything in _years _and had deleted everything off of my account but the profile picture—a picture of a girl trying to stay upright against a heavy gust of wind. He messaged me and was the first to ask why I drew. Other messages asked when I'd be putting up more drawings, but he didn't care about that; he wanted to know _why. _We'd been best friends since. He lives in Washington, but he'd texted me he was moving to be closer to his family. He was the one who encouraged me to go back to Arts Institute. Yale failed me, but he kept pushing me to try at another school, and that lead me to Chicago. Well, that and Renee's place, and the Sullivan Galleries that features the undergraduate and graduate student shows.

I hurry up the concrete stairs that take me away from Wabash Ave, into the tall Sharp building. My class is right by the entrance and I check the time on my cell phone before turning it off. Just five minutes late.

I open the door and step in, noticing the Professor's not at his desk and the students are finding seats. I look around the classroom. There's a corner of giggling girls, jocks behind them, and the left side of the room completely occupied save for a chair or two. In the right corner of the room sits a middle age woman, her brown and reddish hair pulled behind her ears into a neat bun, a few tendrils loose. The students in the left side of the room give her odd looks, but she pays no attention. Her back is squared and straight, and she's got a determined look on her face. I ignore the male student who whistles to get my attention and without hesitation, move to sit on the stool besides the older woman.

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><p><strong>Thank you to everyone who took their time to read and review last chapter. <strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**Warning: I write in present tense. When I use past tense, it's to show something that has already happened in the story without using **_italics_**. **

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><p>She gives me a small smile when I sit on the stool next to her, eyeing my tattooed arm, but before either of us can say anything, a short, balding man steps into the room and puts down his briefcase on the empty table.<p>

"Morning," he grumbles out. "My tardy today is a rare occurrence. Welcome to Art 100A. I am Professor Aro Volturi, and more than half of the paintings currently hung in the Betty Rymer Gallery are mine. This class is to help you gain a perspective and a smooth hand. It's a beginner's course. If you don't have your art supplies with you today, you can leave. The instructions were clear with the syllabus sent last week." He pauses for a moment to allow three people to quietly exit the classroom. I just quirk up one of my eyebrows, liking the no-nonsense professor. "Get out a piece of paper and I want you to draw this-however you want to draw it, whatever else you want to add onto it; you have free reign."

He presses a button on a small remote like thing he got out from his desk drawer and the one of those expensive projectors attached to the ceiling turns on, displaying a pair of empty, plain black wings against the white board in front of the classroom.

I get out a piece of paper, and my 1B, 3B, 5B, and 6B pencils, and a new kneading eraser, arranging the materials over my small desk, and as the rest of the class starts drawing, I rip open the flimsy plastic on the kneading eraser, freeing it. I let the gray, rectangle material warm in my hand before slowly starting to knead it with my thumbs and index and middle fingers. I keep looking at the black wings, trying to come up with something to add to the empty wings. Soon, the eraser's gooey enough for me to pull apart easily and put it together, and I'm ready to transfer what I have in mind onto my white paper.

I take out an additional spare piece of paper and scribble my 1B pencil's sharp point over and over to make the tip of the lead smooth, and then start on the drawing, outlining the shape of the wings in a light line, trying to keep both wings different sizes, but my hands are doing opposite of my wishes and the wings come out perfectly symmetrical. I leave the starting and ending points of the wings sharp, twisting inward, and from the top, bring swirls and swirls of lines and circles towards the bottom, making sure to keep them just to the inner sides of the outline. I make some lines within the wings to connect the inner part to the outer. Taking my 6B, I outline the lines, starting with darkest of dark and eventually fading into light and then into a light gray by dabbing the paper lightly with the kneading eraser. Intricate shading and simple patterns and nothing else.

The murmurs of the class are put to the back of my mind as my hand moves on its own record to fill the empty space between the two wings. Starting with hair and then the shape of a small heart-shaped face, and then a slim body cascaded in a white gown. I darken each strand of hair and then light outline it with a littler shade to give each and every tress their distinction. The kneading eraser lightens appropriate places to make it seem as if there's a light shining somewhere from the north-west side of the paper, but there's nothing light about the drawing. It's all just darkness.

"You're holding the pencil wrong," I hear a male voice ring out from my right side and I jump.

My eyes snap up towards Aro.

"Don't hold your pencil as if you're about to cut vegetables. Hold it as if you're about to write. Use the length of the lead to make those lines," he instructs, his eyes still on my paper.

I do as he says and the hair changes direction and suddenly, it's as if there are two half-heads put onto the paper and it's no longer _mine. _

Help. I hate getting help.

"Excellent," he whispers reverently, still standing next to me. "Why're you in a beginner's course?" he demands.

"I just started the institute. I can't jump ahead."

"You can with my permission. I'd like for you to go visit Professor Marcus and show him that drawing. You might be able to skip some classes."

He continues to murmur to himself and goes to his desk.

Panic ceases me. I don't want to move into a classroom where they'll all know how I got there, not to mention the first day of classes have already commenced. _I hate attention_.

"Professor, it's okay, really. I'd ra—rather take this course and move my way up," I plead, trying to ignore the blaring silence of the room and everyone's eyes on me.

He stares at me with a look of contempt on his face, as if in disbelief. After a few moments, he finally nods and I relax on my stool, my elbows resting on the desk top in front of me.

I sneak a peek at the lady next to me, only to see she's completely submerged into her drawing. While mine consists nothing of darkness and gray highlights, hers is mostly white with as little dark as possible. Her wings are nearly cartoon-ishly comic; feathery, unsymmetrical, light, happy, and _innocent. _

_Polar opposites. _

Volturi looks at his wrist watch and announces the class over and requests for the drawings to be left on his desk, so he can "evaluate" them but not grade. He also informs of that being his method to roll call every class day. I pack up silently, grab my stuff and move towards the front of the room, putting my drawing on top as I'm the last one left in the classroom.

"Miss Swan," Volturi halts me, my paper in his hand. "I know enough about pencil Art to see it from miles away. Are those your drawings?" he asks, indicating towards the ink on my arm.

"No, sir. They're my mother's work," I answer and walk out, not giving him a chance to comment nor looking back to see his expression.

I step outside the classroom and then the gates of Sharp building, groaning as I see fat raindrops falling onto the concrete ground of Chicago's Art Institute. I gather up my jacket, ready to hold it over my head and make a dash towards the street to look for a taxi when an unfamiliar voice stops me.

"Need a ride home?" I turn to the woman who sat beside me in Art. "Hi, I'm Esme."

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><p><strong>Check out my other work if you ever so incline. :) "Our NeverEnding Story" is my second favorite to this one.<strong>

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. A special 'thank you' to Southern Fanfiction Review for Recc'ing/linking this on her FB page!_

**Bella's meeting Carlisle next chapter and gets to know a bit about Esme! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**Warning: I write in present tense. When I use past tense, it's to show something that has already happened in the story without using **_italics_**. **

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><p>I shuffle my feet, wiggle my toes inside my boots and rub my left elbow with my right hand. It's <em>that<em> awkward_. _

The dark day reminds me so much of Seattle. Chicago's known for its wind but I never expected the abrupt weather changes. There are streaks of light and dark gray all across the sky blending in with the white. I like the rain and the stormy weather. The sound of soft _tap, tap, tap_ on the window or the roof is comforting when there is nothing but silence surrounding. The feeling of water brushing against skin, water to flesh without any barrier is so sensual. It's like nature kissing me cold, drenching me wet. The dark, endless sky reminds me of having the world in front of my fingertips to leave my mark on.

Esme ends the silence by telling me how her husband is never late, that he must've got caught up at his work. He's supposed to pick her up in just a few minutes, and I'm feeling even more awkward because I don't want to impose on him.

"Are you sure he won't mind?" I ask her for confirmation, pulling my jacket on but it does nothing to warm my arms.

She waves a hand. "Of course not," she starts warmly, "You're in no position to walk anywhere in this weather!" The thunder crackling in the sky helps Esme convince me to not make a dash out and I shut up once again, unable to think anything to say. The struggle to find a topic makes me realize just how much I've closed myself off from the world. The only human contact I have is with Alice in person and Emmett through the phone.

I don't need to worry, though, because Esme starts talking again. She tells me how her husband is the Director of the Chicago Pediatric Care in Westchester, 20 minutes away from the campus. She tells me how caring he is, how sweet and thought he is. I can't stop the smile the spreads across my face as I see the love in her eyes, in the expression on her face. She has a really pretty smile; red lips and pearly white teeth and entirely genuine. There's nothing _fake_ about her. Looking at her now, she seems so different than the person who sat beside me in Art. Then, she seemed to be just a woman who was there to learn, to express herself through her work. Now, she looks like a sophisticated housewife who hasn't ever worked, nor washed the dishes with the way her hands look; her wrinkle-free, smooth hands look younger than my dry, calloused ones.

"I have three kids; a daughter and two sons," she grins at me. "My oldest son works as an endorser for his gym, and my other son is a doctor, a specialist in Pediatric Oncology. My daughter," her voice takes on a softer tone, "She's only three. She's always running all over the place." Esme lets out a light laugh.

"What's her name?" I question her, thankful for a safe subject. I wonder about the age difference between her children, but I know better than to ask. It'll only result in awkward silence.

"Vanessa, but we call her Nessie." Before I can comment, she starts rummaging through her bag, pulling out a small, white wallet. She opens it and shows me a small picture of a beautiful baby girl with bright green eyes and brown-reddish curls.

"She's beautiful," I almost want to coo at how adorable Nessie is.

"She is," Esme replies enthusiastically. "Such a calm baby."

"Aw. Does your husband look after her while you're in class?"

She giggles. "No, silly. He works all day, every day."

"So who looks after her when you're here?" I question, curious.

"I…who takes…I…" she stutters, looking genuinely confused as if she doesn't understand my question. "Oh, there he is!"

I turn to look to where she's indicating as a sleek black Mercedes drives closer and closer towards us. Even in the rain, the waxed exterior shines, raindrops touching the surface and immediately pelting off towards the sides. It stops just before the stairs and a man comes running out of the driver's side as soon as the car halts. The concern on his face is visible as is his instant relief as he sees Esme standing smiling.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. Eleazar needed something," he apologies, leaning to lay a kiss on her forehead.

I fidget again, looking at anywhere but the couple whispering sweet nothings to each other.

"Oh! Carlisle, this is Bella; she's in my Art class. She doesn't have a ride home."

Carlisle turns to me and smiles, extending his hand. I gingerly put my small and in his larger one, trying to keep a firm grip. "Nice to meet you," I whisper out.

"Let's make a run for it," he says, taking off his wrinkle-free coat to cover Esme. He nods once at me and we all make a dash towards the car. He opens the door for Esme and then runs towards the driver side as I sit in the back, taking off my jacket to keep the water from getting on his leather seats. The two let out a small laugh as Carlisle runs a hand through his drenched hair. He turns back to look at me and when he notices my tattooed arm, his smile nearly drops before he checks himself and forces the smile to stay. The disapproval is clear in his eyes.

"Where do you live?"

"Just by two blocks down. Keep going North on Wabash Ave," I reply softly.

The car ride is spent in silence as I mule over Carlisle's actions. His worry over taking time to get to the campus…his love for her as he tried to keep Esme sheltered from the rain, not caring if his expensive looking suit got wet. Even now, as I look to the front, he's holding her left hand in his right, _delicately_. His thumb is rubbing over her knuckles gently, as if he's afraid of breaking her. He treats her as if she's made of porcelain. My brows furrow as I wonder if that's just how Carlisle is or if there's more to it.

Before I know it, we're reached in front of my house and I tell Carlisle to pull into the empty parking by the curb. I thank them both and rush out without pulling on my wet jacket, grabbing my keys from deep within my bag. I try to keep as close to the door as I open the lock to keep from getting completely drenched. Before I shut the door, I look back to see the car still there. Esme waves happily at me from her seat just as Carlisle pulls out into the empty street, driving away.

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><p><strong>Check out my other work if you ever so incline. :) "Our NeverEnding Story" is my second favorite to this one.<strong>

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. A special 'thank you' to Southern Fanfiction Review for Recc'ing/linking this on her FB page!_

**What do you guys think or Esme and Carlisle so far? **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**Warning: I write in present tense. When I use past tense, it's to show something that has already happened in the story without using **_italics_**. **

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><p>My apartme—no, my <em>house<em> isn't big, nor small. It is average size compared to some of the luxury houses I've seen in Chicago by my favorite Art Supplies store. I didn't even know my mother had purchased this place; she never told me. She never told James, either. She'd been planning to divorce James and move in with a baseball player named Phil to Chicago before her biopsy report revealed a quickening Stage 3 lung cancer. James had worked day and night to gather money for Renee's treatment yet everything failed and she finally stopped all medical care, wanting to live the remaining days of her life without the pain of failure to improve and side effects of chemo and radiation.

She'd eventually told James of what she planned, but he didn't let her tell me at that time. He didn't want me to be angry with her while she was so close to her deathbed. I can still remember the day James went to Seattle. She was lying on her bed, smiling wistfully when she called me.

I had walked slowly to her, as if putting too much weight on the wilted wood floor would hurt her.

She'd opened her arms, nodding her head towards me. "Come here, baby."

She'd held my small 11-year-old-body close, tightly, with entirely _too_ much strength for a weak being. Her skin sagged and her bones protruded and poked me but I hadn't let that stop me from wrapping my arms tightly around her, the smell of medicine surrounding her enough to make me want to wretch. I'd missed that sweet, flowery smell she used to radiate. I still do.

"I love you," she'd said. "I love you so much, Bella."

I'd told her to rest because my heart had been pounding and she looked so very tired; I'd known something was wrong. My 11 year old brain hadn't registered what was going on until it was too late, my eyes not taking in the sight of empty pill bottles until too late. I'd panicked when her bony hands had fallen away from me and her head lolled forward. I'd freaked out when I had moved away to look at her and she just fell on her side in an awkward position, her legs straight in front of her in. I'd screamed and screamed and screamed until I lost my voice and I'd shaken her until my arms ached and I'd prayed in my mind for her to be alive, for some miracle to happen, and if not that, I had prayed for some type of magic moment that would give me a few more seconds with her so I could tell her I loved her so much, that she was my role model and that I'd never forget her.

The elderly neighbors called the cops and they called James and he'd come running home, collapsing at the sight of his wife's pale and cold body and his step-daughter's tear soaked face. He'd held me close to him, not letting me go even when the cops wanted to talk to him alone. He carried me to bed that night, he held me as I wept without silencing my cries and he sobbed without a sound. We were both broken and we'd both lost a part of ourselves that day.

My mind flashes to the moment when James had dropped me off with Charlie, leaving behind nothing but a bank account that he'd continuously deposited money into and a letter I was to receive after Charlie thought I was ready. I loved Charlie; we were both the same type of persons. Quiet, less words and more actions type and that worked for us. I cooked and he paid for the groceries. I did my homework and he wouldn't pester me for information nor did he ever enforce a curfew on me—not that he had to; I never went out.

I can't be mad at James. He'd only thought of my safety when he left me with Charlie after what happened that fateful night five months after my mother's death. I hate Renee, though. How could she just have taken the pills and left me hold her while she knew she was dying? She didn't care the effect it would have on me, to know that I had her life underneath my hands, that I felt her _leave_ her body. That psychological damage is irreversible.

I shake my head to dispel these thoughts. I take a shower to warm up my pale, frozen skin and then clean up the water by the front door; wouldn't want to get that precious wooden floor inflated because of water residue.

My grumbling stomach reminds me that I've had neither breakfast nor lunch. I make a small serving of pasta, macaroni and cheese, and nibble on a ready-made brownie for desert. I still need to find myself a Chocolate Anonymous, but then again, chocolate is the only sweet candy that doesn't taste bitter.

I don't have any homework; it's all been finished when I'd waken up in the wee hours of the morning. I don't have any classes for the rest of the day, and the fatigue wins out as the corners of my eyes sting with sleep. I curl up on my soft and fluffy couch, pull the blanket that lays draped across the back of it over me and snuggle into it, thankful for my thick pajamas. The soft _thump, tap, thump, tap, thump _is too relaxing and mixed with fatigue, it doesn't take me long to fall into an empty dark abyss.

Same routine every morning; nothing's changed for the past ten years. I wake up too early because of the eerie feeling underneath my fingertips that's always present reminding me of Renee. Instead of drawing this morning, though, I take one of Renee's paintings and a plain white paper, and step out onto my balcony, not even caring if the water from the heavy rain gets onto my bedroom floor carpet.

I shiver as the cold rain soaks through my clothes and chills my skin. My stomach tightens at the contrasting temperatures. I lay a white sheet of paper on the wet floor and then one of the Renee's paintings on top of it. I watch in morbid fascination as the sparrow in the painting becomes lightened and the color spreads just slightly due to the age of the work, and eventually seeps through.

_Self-imposed_ _therapy_. This is _my_ idea of therapy.

A few more minutes and then I take both of them inside, leaving her original drawing to drain by my bathtub before drying the new one with my hair dryer. The lines of the sparrow are smudged, smeared, and it couldn't have been more beautiful.

Another tattoo to add to my arm. I hate Renee; I tell myself all the time, yet one look into the mirror or down at my left arm contradicts every one of those lies.

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><p><strong>Check out my other work if you ever so incline. :) "Our NeverEnding Story" is my second favorite to this one.<strong>

_Reviewers will get something special as long as I can reach you by Private Messaging. Thanks to those who recommended this story to their friends on Fanfiction and Facebook and Twitter. I adore each and every one of you!_

**A little look into Bella's childhood. There's more to it, of course, but I'll save that for when she's actually _talking_ and _telling_ it to someone else (read: Edward) rather than remembering it. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**Warning: I write in present tense. When I use past tense, it's to show something that has already happened in the story without using **_italics_**. **

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><p>Career in Art Therapy is neither valuable money wise nor prestigious career wise. <em>Most<em> people choose to work in this field because they lost as to what to do with themselves and they're good at art, or because they want to help others.

I like Art Therapy because it combines psychology and art into a method to calm, aid, and heal people and to help lead them to self-discovery. There are few facilities that use Art Therapy as a mean of psychological treatment, and even fewer that are for children. My old therapist had mentioned it in the passing but I didn't give it much thought until Emmett had brought it up in one of our conversations. He thought it would be a good idea to use my skills and apply them; he mentioned something off-handedly about his fiancée working for the American Society for Deaf Children and that Art Therapy could really help some of them.

With the amount of money James left behind for me, I wouldn't need to work for a good number of years and without caring for other options, I opted to take the plunge. Yale's Art Therapy program would've taken me six years to get my Masters and SAIC allows me a flexible schedule to complete my education in four years if I take a minimum of five courses per quarter.

From all of my classes this quarter so far, I find Creative Proc as Art Therapy the easiest, not to mention Professor Black is amusing. He makes jokes and he laughs and he applies all theories to help the students' gain a solid ground rather than just have us read, listen, and take tests. I don't find any of my classes difficult as long as I pay attention to the lectures, but Ritual and Art Making in Healing is one of my favorites. Society in general is made up of rituals in everyday life; cultural rituals, life-cycle rituals, and taboos. I find it fascinating just how much of our daily doings are rituals rather than mindless actions.

It's the same routine every day. Shower, eat and draw. And sometimes do homework. Aro's still trying to get to move up a level to Professor Marcus' class but what's the point of becoming an expert in a field if I can just move forth with skill I acquired by watching and teaching myself rather than learning? What if I need something later in my career that was to be taught in a class that I skipped? I'd rather have the entire experiencing of "college." Aro understands but that doesn't stop him from suggesting.

He's been having us draw just miniature things right now; such as practicing drawing our hands while looking at both the paper and our hand, and then having us draw an object in front of the class without looking at our papers.

Esme's…different. She's like me and at the same time, not like me. We see the same empty picture on the board whenever there's free-lancing, but when I draw, there's always something sad, something dark about it, but her drawing comes out so innocent like, so pure. It's so contrasting that even Aro's made some comments on it.

Everyone in the classroom is there because of their passion for something relating to Art; there are those who just want to go towards the big money and learn how to identify art and the others are there to make art. When drawing, the murmurs fade into the background as all concentration goes into the picture in front of us. People watching lead me to the conclusion that Esme and I are different from them. We share the same type of passion and enthusiasm for art, but our drawings always have some type of meaning, some type of story behind each picture. I have yet to notice another drawing similar to ours.

Esme and I have taken up to talking softly in between drawing. I don't ask her about Vanessa, fearing her confusion state as last time. She's mentioned off-handedly that she wants me to meet her son, the doctor son, and I'm not sure what to make of it. She had a secret little smile gracing her lips when she told me, and I almost think she's setting me up. I just smile at her to placate her.

We're drawing a foam cube today; the actual foam cube is plain white, but Aro wants us to use our imagination and draw 3d design on it, and then shade appropriately underneath as if there was light being shed onto the object from the top right side.

"What are you doing after class?" Esme asks me, her eyes on the white paper in front of her.

"Going home," I reply.

She pauses and turns to me. "We should have coffee. There's a coffee shop right across."

"Carlisle isn't picking you up today?" I'm curious. He's always waiting outside before the class ends and with a polite smile towards me, he leads her away before she can say even a 'goodbye' to me.

"No, my son, Edward, is. And I told him to pick me up at the coffee shop." She has a wistful smile; she seems quite fond of him.

I ask to clarify, "He's 25, right? Your younger son?"

She nods.

"Isn't he too young to be a doctor?" I can't retract my words so I hope I haven't offended her.

She lets out a tinkling giggle. "He's really smart; he takes after his father. He applied for the Pritzker Undergrad program at Pritzker Medical School; passed MCAT with excellent scores, and he was able to study medicine without a Bachelors Degree."

4 year medical school, 4 year internship plus residency and a doctor at 25. Lucky.

"So, coffee?" she asks again.

I don't have to think about it. It isn't as if she'll take my denial; she'll just ask for another day.

"Sure," I tell her with a smile before going back to my drawing. It would be nice to talk to someone, and Alice would be happy of me. That reminds me that I haven't visited her in awhile. I should.

Just like always, Aro requests us to leave our papers on his front desk, and as always, I'm the last one there. This time, however, Esme's waiting for me right outside of the classroom. She's wearing her big purse on one arm and has a neat little folder-like-box with her art materials in it held in her other arm. To have a son 26 years old, she'd have to be over 40…right? She seems like she's in her early 30s, but the tiredness and the wrinkles around her eyes suggest she's older, or she's been through a lot. The smile on her face, though, makes her seem younger than she is. She's always so happy.

I hold open the door to let her go in first. We order and find a table to sit at, and just as I find a topic to talk to her about, her face lights up and she raises her arm over her head, to wave.

"Edward," she calls out.

I nearly groan. I forgot about the setup.

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><p><strong>Check out my other work if you ever so incline. :) <strong>

_Sorry about the delay, guys. My clinical rotations start this week and I'm not used to being on call again. _

**Leave me a your thoughts; each and every review makes my day. :) **


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**I write in present tense. When I use past tense, it's to show something that has already happened in the story without using **_italics_**. **

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><p>Her grin widens as her eyes move from her son to me and then back again. I don't know whether I should stand or stay seated. I mean, only men get up to pull out chairs, right? But is it rude to just stay seated? I follow Esme's example and sit quietly, though she's nearly bouncing in her seat and I have my head hung with my chin nearly touching my chest. My coffee cup is suddenly really interesting.<p>

I can hear blood rushing through my ears, my heart pounding in my chest. There's something really sad about getting nervous when meeting someone because I've been away from human contact for so many years.

"Hi, Ma," a silky voice murmurs softly next to me, and my mind goes blank. Any topic, any thought dispels and I'm left with nothing but my chin slightly lowered as my lips part in surprise.

For the first time in awhile, I want to touch someone else just to see if they're real; my fingers twitch to run through the shiny bronze strands that stand up in every direction. I repress the urge to see if his hair is as soft as it looks.

Esme turns to me and her eyes sparkle at whatever she finds in my expression. "Bella, this is my son, Edward. Edward, this is Bella. She's in my art class."

Edward turns his eyes towards me, and I want to gasp at the deep green shade of his eyes. I don't want to look away yet simultaneously, I want to grab a piece of paper and start drawing every inch of him visible to my eye.

His crooked nose is an obvious flaw, as are the small dark spots just where he must've nipped himself with a razor blade, and that makes him even more pleasing to look at because the flaws accentuate that he's real.

He clears his throat and I feel my cheeks heat up as my eyes go back to staring at my coffee cup.

"Hi," he starts softly, as if trying not to frighten away a baby kitten. My shoulders square up and I soothe out any expression my face.

"Hello," I reply back coolly, extending my hand forth to him. It's normal to shake hands, right?

His long fingers curl around mine, my tiny hand drowning in his. A shiver travels up my skin as a static passes between his hand and mine. His eyes widen fractionally but otherwise, there's no indication he felt anything. I ignore it as he squeezes my hand and I do the same firmly. _A firm handshake is the sign of confidence. _

It's a bit hot in the little café corner, but I don't want to take off my light throw-over in fear of what Edward's reaction over my tattoos will be. I'm not ashamed of them, but his grimace or a Carlisle-like frown towards them will throw my off the loop and alter my image of him. And I want to draw him just as I see him, with a sincere smile on his face, his eyes crinkling on the sides as a sign of being genuine.

He takes a seat and my mind is blank. I bite my bottom lip. The silence is edging towards being extremely awkward when Esme speaks up.

"Oh! They just made some fresh cookies. Do you want any, Bella?"

"I'll get it, Ma," Edward begins, but Esme cuts him off.

"Nonsense. I can get it. Bella?"

I manage a small, "No, thanks" before she's out of her seat and towards the counter.

Edward shakes his head at his mother's antics and chuckles under his breath.

"Esme's talked so you about you, I feel as if I know you already," he murmurs out smoothly, his hands linking toward on the table. There's a scar across his knuckles and it momentarily distracts me from his lithe, long fingers.

My thumbs twiddle anxiously. "Has she?" Why does this make me so uncomfortable?

"Yes." He eyes me before continuing, "All good things, I assure you."

"Good," I reply back nervously.

"How long have you been in Chicago?"

"Five months." I feel as if I should question back, but he continues before I can.

"Wow, so you're basically a newbie." He grins. "Did you move here just for the Art Institute or do you have family here?"

I look over to Esme only only to see her snap her head back to the barista, chatting up with him.

"I moved here for the Art Therapy program."

Curiosity sparks in his eyes. "Art Therapy?"

I nod, gaining confidence as the subject moves to a safer topic. "I want to help children with auditory problems through Art Therapy; the kids that psychiatrists have given up on."

"They'll be very fortunate," he replies, his voice low. He doesn't need to complete the sentence. I know what he meant. "My sister-in-law works with kids who have auditory problems as well."

I give him a small smile. "What position does she hold?"

"She's a director but spends her time playing with the small ones in the daycare center." He laughs, his eyes light.

I take a sip of my semi-hot coffee. "That's sweet of her." I don't know what else to say.

"What made you decide to study Art Therapy?"

"A friend mentioned it in the passing. Why did you choose to go into Pediatric Oncology?"

The little spark that was in his eyes vanishes. His fingertips turn white against his own linked hands before he pulls them apart, tapping his fingers on each knee. He clears his throat. "To try to save a life."

It's clear he's uncomfortable with the subject. I want to ask about Vanessa but I don't. I leave it at that. The conversation is so odd for the first time; it's too personal, too deep. Why am I hoping for another conversation, then? My fingers itch for a pencil and paper.

Esme finally pops up behind me and informs Edward of the time. Before they both leave, Edward locks eyes with me, a foreign emotion swimming in his jade green eyes. He finally leaves with a smile and Esme follows after leaving me a chocolate chip cookie beside my cold coffee.

I follow out in a daze, power-walking towards my house.

I can't even remember if I've locked the front door in my hurry to get to the poster papers. I throw my bag somewhere on the way to my room and grab a long rectangle sheet of paper hastily and pin it to my bedroom wall, not caring if it'll mess up the drawings behind it. My fingers are tingling and my hand moves too fast to draw straight lines for that sharp jaw, the soft, thin but plump lips, the crooked curve of the nose, and the delicate upturn of the eyes with crinkles on the side. I find the eyes hardest to draw because I can't remember the exact amount of gold specks in the swimming green, nor can I capture the exact emotion. This is one drawing that I want perfect.

By the time my stomach rumbles alerting me of the evening time, I've finished the outlines of each individual feature, not connecting it all with shading yet. I'd have to be delicate with the shading.

I try to console myself that it's not obsession, nor that I haven't found my muse as I eat my frozen dinner. But what other explanation is there? It's the first night in a decade that I sleep a few minutes past 5:00 am.

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><p><strong>Check out my other work if you ever so incline. :) <strong>

_I know it's a bit of jumbled mess right now, but I'm trying to get in some communication between the character and a reason for them to be attracted to each other before something (read: date/sex) happens. _

**Leave me a your thoughts; each time my phone** _dings _**indicating a review, I want to do a little happy dance.**** :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**I write in present tense. When I use past tense, it's to show something that has already happened in the story without using **_italics_**.**

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><p>My fatigue is apparent in class next day. I'm used to the light purple shadows underneath my brown eyes from the lack of enough sleep but today, they're particularly darker that made me do a double-take in the morning. Breakfast didn't sit well and came up just minutes after I'd finished some oatmeal. I tried orange juice but the bitterness that settled on my tongue after one sip made me pour it down the drain. Frustrated with things, I'd left the house with a dark cloud over my head.<p>

Aro's starting a new partner project and it's a bit scary to see how excited he is. I've never imagined him as someone who would bounce on the tips of his feet. He passes out the project packet, and I've never been more thankful for one. I can't pay attention to what he's saying and I'm struggling to keep my eyes open. The side-bangs that Alice insisted on bother me and I can't deal with them today. I take out my red bandana from the back pocket of my jeans and tuck the bangs behind my ear before wrapping the bandana around my head, a knot at the right top side of my head.

"Partners?" Esme whispers over to me and I nod my head before putting my forehead down on the cool desk. The stool is high and without the back support, it's an awkward position.

I feel a cool hand on my cheek. "You're running a high fever," Esme whispers nervously.

My stomach upturns and I try to block out all the murmurs that seem a pitch too high than normal. I groan, turning my head so my left cheek lays on the cool desk. I give into the urge to close my eyes and the feeling of relief is evident; my eyes no longer sting from the lack of sleep. Vibrations from my cell phone indicating a message prompt my to open my eyes and I see sleek polished black shoes making their way towards me.

"Miss Swan?" Why is Aro's voice so high?

A feminine hand rubs soothingly up and down my back. "She's running a fever. I think she should go home." The concern is evident in her voice.

_Up. _

_Down._

I'm sure I think I've blacked out but I can see everything perfectly; it's the noise level around the classroom that has halted, all I can hear is a soft buzz. _Up. Down. _I can see Esme's lips moving but my mind cannot form the words she's saying. She eventually just wraps her arm around my waist and pressures upward, indicating for me to get up. I do exactly that.

My feet drag across the carpeted floor of the classroom as Esme supports me out. I feel both of my legs moving to help her but I can't register that action in my mind. I see her punching numbers on her phone and then her lips moving. The buzz is getting louder in my ears and I suddenly want to seek a shelter from this darkness that's starting to invade my mind. I no longer want to surrender to the fatigue but I want to claw my way out of this closing wall inside my mind. I'm sinking lower and lower into the dark abyss and deeper and deeper into the buzzing. I want to scratch at my ears as the annoyance seeks through the panic and fear but I'm unable to move my limbs in any way I want. The last thing I see before my eyes involuntarily close is a flash of bronze.

.

.

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><p>.<p>

.

The first thing I feel is a bright glare through my closed eyelids; it's a hue of orange and red and blank yellow but it's enough to make me mush further together my eyes. There's a beeping sound to my right, _beep, beep, beep, _comforting yet simultaneously irritating, like an alarm clock ringing during a bad nightmare that you want to escape from; I want to knock it off to silence it but as I try to move my arm, a sharp pinch goes through my muscles and I still it once again. I try to open my eyes against the bright light but there's some dried rheum that pinches together both my top and bottom eyelashes. I make a noise, a mixture of a groan and a moan and a soothing, gentle hand pats my cheek gently before I feel a soft, wet cloth wiping around my eyes. I try again to open my eyes and after a few tries, I succeed in opening them up a bit. I blink a few times and open my eyes normally.

"What's going on?" My voice sounds hoarse, as if I haven't talked in forever.

"Hi, there," his voice is soothing, gentle and calming. "What can you remember?"

I'm distracted by the long fingers that rest around my jaw as his thumbs rub gentle circles into my cheekbones.

"Bella?"

"Edward?" I croak out. "I…I remember class an—and Esme," I stutter out.

He nods his head. "You collapsed."

"Why?"

His slightly bushy eyebrows come together to form a 'v'. "That's what I want to know." He continues at the confused glance from me. "We did a Head Computed Tomography and a Head Magnetic Resonance Imaging but we were unable to determine the cause of your lapse," he explains.

I clear my throat. He grabs something from the table beside the hospital bed and puts a small straw on my bottom lip. I lift my head a tiny bit and down the water greedily. "So something's wrong, but you don't know what?" I manage to get out.

"Neuroimaging reveals any type of illness within the brain but we found nothing." His mouth twists downward and it's obvious he's not used to the feeling of "unknowing."

"Oh."

"I—_We_ think the problems might psychological." He's uncomfortable, it's clear from the way his eyes dart around the wall behind my head.

Did he just call me crazy? Or does he think I am?

"Oh," I repeat.

His eyes snap to mine. His hands don't pull away and neither do I.

"It's just, I," he fidgets before continuing, "your symptoms resembled a stress attack, but that wasn't it."

My eyes are focused on his lips as they part, as they form words and as his tongue sneaks out to wet his bottom lip.

"Bella?" his worried voice pulls me out of my reverie.

It must've been his expression, or his worried voice that made me blurt out without think, "Bipolar Disorder. My mother was bipolar and it's hereditary."

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><p><strong>Check out my other work if you ever so incline. :) Updates may be a little less frequent. I'm moving homes all the while trying to keep up with studies and being on-call.<br>**

_A little more mess, but Chapter 5 did indicate that Renee wasn't exactly in her right mind. I'm not sure how long this story will be, but I'll try not to drag it out. I want it to be realistic with the characters experiencing the emotions and situations rather than just shoving them towards a certain direction._

**Thanks so much for the response to the last chapter! I'm completely blown away. :) Leave me a your thoughts; each time my phone** _dings _**indicating a review, I want to do a little happy dance.**** :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

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><p>I sign in, writing the time of my appointment and arrival and leave the box blank under "Departed Time." I have only 15 minutes, but I always hold out hope I'd be able to stay longer.<p>

_Easily Distracted_

_Little Need for Sleep_

It's always the same thing. Sign in, wait until someone with a badge goes to sedate the patient with a neuromuscular-blocking drug and then the visitor only gets 15 minutes tops to stay within the room of the patient and talk to them.

_Poor Judgment_

_Poor Temper Control_

It's always the same nurse. She gives me a small, gentle smile and I sometimes think that Alice is lucky considered to the rest of the patient to have this one nurse take care of her.

_Reckless Behavior and Lack of Self Control_

_Very Elevated Mood_

As I walk through the well lit, stark white hallway on the white-tiled floor, symptoms of Bipolar disorder continue to run through my mind. It's been well over two days since the Doctor who did an MRI and the paper-test on me declared me 'un-bipolar' yet every single word that was on that form repeats through my mind until I'm feeling the same numbness I felt when I was sedated.

_Very Involved in Activities_

_Very Upset_

I step into the room and the nurse closes the door after me, staying outside, close by, watching.

"Hi, Alice," I start. There's a plastic, uncomfortable chair by her bed, and I take a seat.

_Daily Low Mood or Sadness_

_Difficulty Concentrating, Remembering, or Making Decisions_

I grab her lifeless hand. "I've missed you. There's no one to raid my cupboards anymore. I still have the habit of making too many brownies, only now I have to finish them in a few days' time."

I sigh. "I met someone who reminds me of you. Her name's Esme. She's in my Art class and when she's excited, she gets this wide Alice-like grin on her face." A smile spreads across my lips as the image of a tiny Alice sitting in my kitchen, hyper on the chocolate melted brownies. "She's an artist, too. She likes to draw things with _white_. If she has a white sheet of paper, she'll make a black background and then start with a white drawing." A chuckle passes through my lips this time. "I sit next to her in class. Our drawings are polar opposites. Her drawings are like a window to her soul; I feel like there are so many answers behind each of her work; I'm not able to decipher them. She has a son that helped me."

Her face is so pale, nearly as white as the pillow covers underneath her black, short hair. Her clear blue eyes look towards the ceiling, unable to look anywhere else. Her entire body is stiff.

"I had a lapse. The doctors couldn't find anything in my blood, nor my medical reports, so they think it's psychological. They thought it was Cyclothymia until they discovered I don't have depression. I guess Renee still won't really leave me, huh? Esme's son is a doctor, you know. He's the one who checked me."

_Fatigue of Lack of Energy_

_Feeling Worthless, Hopeless or Guilty_

"For some reason, I want to draw him. I can't do people portraits if they're sitting in front of me, you know that. But with him, I'm afraid to complete a drawing. I've drawn his nose, jaw, lips, eyes, but never a full face. Maybe because I'm afraid my drawing won't do him justice. And I really want to finish a drawing and I don't mind if he has to sit in front of me. If I tell him, do you think he'll think I'm a stalker? Or that I have an obsession?"

_Low Self-Esteem_

_Thoughts of Death and Suicide_

"The house is lonely without you. Your room is still locked and just the way you've left it. I go in there just once to clean out the dust bunnies and to spray the insect control, but otherwise, it's always locked and dark. I'm afraid to go into that part of the house late at night. Every time I do, I feel like you're just sitting there, humming, and not in here. I miss you so much."

The nurse taps on the door lightly, and I squeeze Alice's hand. I take a deep breath to keep the tears from falling as my throat constricts with the emotions bubbling forth.

"I'll see you soon." A kiss to the forehead and that's it. The nurse smiles at me again, this time sadly. She knows I don't like leaving her here, but it's gotten better. I don't have to be threatened anymore.

I count how many steps it takes from Alice's room to the front door, and then to my car. They're just numbers that are usually forgotten, but as many times as I've visited here, the numbers are etched into my long-term memory.

Alice isn't violent, but she's energetic. Even staying in a place like this hasn't dampened her spirit. Every time I came to visit, she'd jump up to hug me and the nurses would have to hold her back, which would only get her involuntarily aggressive. They started giving her neuromuscular-blocking drug to paralyze her when I came to visit. She's allowed only a cell phone and that's because I took personal responsibility. She's made calls to other places, but the nurses find it hard to report an innocent face with a puppy-pout. She's lucky considered to the rest of them. She doesn't belong in a psychiatric hospital.

_Loss of Pleasure in Activities Once Enjoyed_

_Trouble Getting to Sleep or Sleeping too much_

I don't think the list of symptoms will ever leave my mind, nor the fact that Renee had many of those signs visible, signs that I ignored and labeled as something normal for a young mother.

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><p><strong>Check out my other work if you ever so incline. :) I apologize for the delay in posting, but life's gotten hectic. I'm not sure when the next update will be, but I'm hoping to post by Wednesday.<br>**

_What did you guys think of Alice? Her back story and how she met Bella will be told, of course...soon. _

**Leave me a your thoughts; each time my phone** _dings _**indicating a review, I want to do a little happy dance.**** :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**I write in present tense. When I use past tense, it's to show something that has already happened in the story without using **_italics_**.**

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><p><em>Midterm Project Art, Volturi. <em>

_Project must have a minimum and maximum of two persons, only. _

_Instructions: Abstract, only. Write about what you have learned about your partner within a month. Use the least amount of words as possible for their personality, but more of their physical description. _

_Art work: Paint the physical face of your partner and then use your imagination to shown their personality: persona—what you have learned about them. _

"This ought to be interesting," I mumble out, my eyes darting to Esme who is too busy looking around my kitchen, her lips parted and her eyes wide.

"I've always wanted a kitchen like this," she whispers in awe.

"You like to cook?" I don't want to be speculative, but I can't help it. It's hard to imagine the always prim and proper Esme working in the kitchen. Her hands make it seem as if she's never worked a day in her life.

"I love to cook. I used to cook all the time before Vanessa was born," she replies fondly.

"What changed?"

"My concentration was on her. I'd always burn one thing or another, so Carlisle hired a cook for us."

I don't reply immediately, because my own mind is jumbled at what Esme's told me.

"You're more than welcome to cook here." I shrug. "It's just me."

"Where are your parents?" she questions me, her wide eyes still gazing at the steel kitchen. I could easily imagine her as a chibi with sparkly eyes. I make a mental note to draw one after she leaves.

I hadn't been expecting anyone when Esme had knocked on my door. Carlisle had been by her side and I'd been in my night shirt—a long, men's white tee. He didn't look like he approved of that either. He insisted I should go to their house to work but Esme mentioned my 'lapse' moment and convinced him to let her stay. He left reluctantly, leaving me alone to my thoughts of his treatment of her.

"My dad's in Washington."

"And your mom?"

"Dead." There's no emotion in my tone, but I wonder if she can hear any resentment in my voice. I hope she does and she doesn't; I'm just a mess of emotions today.

"I'm…" she hesitates, and I'm glad. I don't want an apology; I've been tired of those for a decade. For once, I just want to tell the news of death of my psychologically ill mother without receiving a word that doesn't help. "Do you want to bake?"

"Excuse me?"

"I have a secret recipe to make these deliciously soft, chocolate oozing brownies." She grins.

This method is definitely preferred over apologies.

She sits on the stool, listing ingredients and materials as I grab them from various places around the kitchen.

"You never talk about your eldest son," I comment lightly.

Her grin lights up her face. "He's been in Washington for a few months now. He used to work around the country, setting up new programs for gyms, but ever since he got engaged, he's been wanting to settle down."

"Do you miss him while he's away from home?" _What a stupid question to ask, Bella._

"I do. He's moving back home, actually," she nearly squeals. "Rosalie is big on family, she wants to be closer to us, and he can't refuse her anything."

I find it weird that Esme doesn't feel sad about the fact that his son wouldn't have moved closer to home had it not been for his fiancée.

"Enough about me." I don't correct her, mixing up the choco batter. "How's your health now?" she questions with concerned expression.

"You mean your son hasn't relented and told you yet?" I raise my eyebrows at her, smiling at her sheepish look. It's nice to have someone to talk to. I'd label myself anti-social had it not been for Alice and Emmett, but what does it say about me that my best friend is in a psychiatric hospital and my other best friend is someone I've never met before? I'd say it's a sad existence, but I'm not exactly saddened. Better to have two friends who you can depend on rather than having more who will readily stab you in the back.

"He won't say anything. Patient-Doctor confidentiality," she says with a sour expression. It's hard not to laugh at her. Her look reminds me of Edward's expression when he told me he couldn't figure out what was wrong with me in the hospital. I take a moment to look at the similarities between the mother and son, and besides the lips and hair, I can see no resemblance. I conclude that Edward's taken after Carlisle rather than Esme. Edward's attitude is after both his parents, though; he can be closed off about certain subject but he's always smiling. And the way Esme gets an excited smile on her face when she's happy, the same smile appears on Edward's face when he finds answers.

"Dr. Edward wants me to start taking vitamins. My body's weak."

"You need to take care of yourself," she scolds me. "Add just a spoon of honey in that and then some caramel top layer."

"Honey?"

"It'll make a crunchy layer in the middle."

I nod and get to work, while Esme hums, still sitting on the stool. She looks longingly towards the stove and I ask her if she wants to help.

"Oh no, Carlisle wouldn't like that."

My eyes narrow and she immediately backtracks. "He just doesn't want me to hurt myself."

I nod and accept it, not thoroughly satisfied with her answer. The batter is ready and I pour it into a rectangular glass plate, putting it inside the oven. Just as I'm about to turn the oven on, a scream vibrates through me and I stop in shock, turning back to look at Esme who's covering her mouth with her hand as tears start gathering in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.

"No, no, please don't," she sobs out.

I step closer to her, my eyes wide, my hands extended in front of me. "Esme, it's just me, Bella. Esme?" I say softly, trying not to startle the hysterical woman.

"No!" she screeches, "My baby, no, my baby!"

"Esme?" I can feel a pounding start at my temple, and I'm so close to freaking out. I have no idea what I should do to console her.

Just as my hand touches her shoulder, she screams out, "Get away! Vanessa! Nessie!"

I can do nothing but try to support her as she collapses onto the floor.

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><p><strong>Check out my other work if you ever so incline. :)<br>**

_I know, I'm horrible. A whole month without updating. I'm so sorry! D: I took on another job to help pay my tuition, so it's killing me, but my new boss is very leinent. I can use my laptop at work! So I should be able to update more often. :)_

**Leave me a your thoughts; each time my phone** _dings _**indicating a review, I do a little happy jiggle regardless of who's watching.**** :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**I write in present tense. When I use past tense, it's to show something that has already happened in the story without using **_italics_**.**

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><p>I try to move Esme towards the couch for a softer ground but I couldn't move her more than a few inches. I grab a pillow and the thick couch-throw and maneuver it under her, trying to make her as comfortable as possible.<p>

I grab some sea salt, food coloring and peppermint oil from my cabinets, trying to remember Charlie's old smelling salt connotation. I put some sea salt into a bowl, adding in a few drops of food coloring and peppermint oil, hoping it'll help Esme wake up before Carlisle gets here. If his angry voice over the phone had been any indication, I'm sure I'll need Esme to stop him from storming over me.

I remember my fingers fumbling through Esme's sparse contact list, trying to find Carlisle's number, and then my trembling voice as I explained Esme's behavior to him.

"She fainted," I had said weakly.

"_What do you mean, she fainted?" _his voice was strict...scared.

"She, uh, we were baking brownies and then she screamed and then fainted." I didn't know how else to narrate the events; my mind's still trying to make sense of it all.

"_What?" _he'd barked and then promptly hung up. I was pretty sure he was heading here so I left the front door unlocked for him before I had moved back to Esme.

I look around for a piece of cloth for the smelling salts, and end up grabbing one of my bandanas. I make a knot to keep from spilling the salt pieces and kneel by Esme, trying to remember what Charlie used to do when I'd faint from the sight of blood. I move the salt around her nose, willing her to wake up and save me from the wrath of her husband.

My front door bangs open and Carlisle rushes over, his brows furrowed, a vein throbbing in his forehead. I cringe as he knocks the smelling salt pouch out of my hand, in the process putting space between Esme and me.

"Come on, Esme, open your eyes for me," he murmurs reverently to the pale woman, one hand on each cheek, his thumb rubbing on her cheekbones. His fierce gaze turns to me next, "What were you doing?" he growls.

"I…she…salts," I stutter lamely, my finger pointing towards the green colored salts that fell out of the cloth when it had made impact with the floor.

His eyes scrutinize the green substance before he turns back to Esme, his arms going around the back of her shoulders, pulling her upper body into himself. I silently, involuntarily move away from them, whether in fear of what he may do or to observe them from a distance, I don't know. At this moment, they look so much like a drawing; her pale body clutched into the form of a man whose posture always screams _superior, _who today looks so vulnerable, so…helpless. My hands itch to grab some pencils and a paper to draw them, but I hold myself back, silently praying to whoever listens to help Esme.

Silence seconds pass that feel like hours, and the only sound is of the clock ticking.

_Tick. Tock. _

_Tick. Tock. _

_Tick. Tock. _

Esme's eyes flutter open and the relief in Carlisle's form is physically evident. I sag against my counter, and will my legs to not run towards her.

"You scared me," he murmurs against Esme's temple.

She blinks, staring up at him with wide green eyes. Confusion is evident on her face, and I avert my eyes as Carlisle leans down to press his lips against hers.

"What happened?" she croaks out, clearing her throat. She struggles to sit up, and with Carlisle's help, she manages to stand on her feet, Carlisle supporting majority of her weight. She tries to move towards the sofa and I grab a glass, pouring some water in it for her. Just as I turn back to the couple, they are no longer by the sofa, but by the door. I frown.

"Carlisle, wha—?" she mumbles out.

"You should have a seat, Esme," I interrupt them.

Carlisle turns to me, replying in a stern voice, "I'd rather get home. It's getting late."

"What are you talking about, Carlisle? Bella and I have a project to finish."

"You can do that some other day. You need rest."

Esme tries to move back into the house but Carlisle grasps at her arm again, and while his grip is gentle, my mind registers that as a controlling, manipulative situation, and I maneuver myself closer towards Esme.

"Are you okay?" I ask her, my eyes trained on Carlisle.

"Come on, Esme," he coos to her, "Vanessa wants you to read her a book. She hasn't taken a bath today, either."

Esme's face lights up at the mention of her daughter and I no longer want to keep her. It's certain Carlisle has never hurt her physically, including his behavior from earlier, but what about emotional damage? What if he's the sort of the needle that pokes at the brains to get what they want?

He settles her into the passenger seat of his crookedly parked Mercedes, walks to the first step and murmurs lowly towards me, "Stay away from her. Please," he stresses and leaves without another second.

Esme waves happily to me and I can do nothing but wave back, my face void of emotions and my mind completely jumbled.

Going to visit Alice at the psychiatric hospital has helped me gain the knowledge of nitpicking through thoughts. My appointment with Edward tomorrow might give me peace of mind along with whatever he's prescribing me.

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><p><em>The wait wasn't that long, was it? Yup, there's more Edward coming up! As for Carlisle, I have lots and lots of plans for him... ;)<br>_

**Leave me a your thoughts! All of the co-workers smile whenever they witness me happy dancing in my huge scrubs. :) ****  
><strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**I write in present tense. When I use past tense, it's to show something that has already happened in the story without using **_italics_**.**

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><p>"Sign in, please," her tone is bored and her eyes disinterested. It's the same as the 'hospital' Alice is in yet completely different at the same time. Perhaps it's because majority of the staff there knows me while I'm just a second-time visitor here. The walls are the same, the floor is the same: white and sterile; but I don't see any smiling, friendly faces here. The nurses are walking about with a file or two in their hands, and the receptionist is a bleach blonde twirling a strand of her hair on her finger. The difference between Alice's hospital and this one: attitude of the staff.<p>

I do as she instructed and then go to sit on the plastic chairs, taking a moment to survey the room. There are a few people sitting around the room, reading magazines and watching the television. I don't know if they're before me waiting to see the doctor or they're here with someone else. There's a glass table in front of me, shiny and clean; the walls are void of any pictures; the atmosphere screams of illness while being so clean. I try not to compare it to the happy pictures on the walls of the psychiatric hospital to this hospital; it wouldn't calm my nerves.

I hate going to the doctors. I remember my mother telling me a doctor's job is the hardest one; one wrong thing and the life of the patient can slip from your hands. She never mentioned how miserable they become. People persons shouldn't become doctors; they like smiling at others and being talkative, but who wants to talk to their doctor when the only time they go to the hospital is when they're ill? My mother never mentioned the nurses; they have to follow orders and do more work than the doctors do, yet they aren't paid as much nor do they have that superiority most doctors believe they have.

"Isabella Swan," the blonde calls out and beckons me to her desk with her index finger, a file in her other hand. I swing my bag over my shoulder, my converse dragging on the floor and I make my way to her. "Do you have insurance?"

"No."

"Will you be paying cash or with a debit card?"

"Debit card."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Yes. At 3:30." It's now 3:35 but I can understand the wait.

"Dr. Denali will see you now. She's just to the ri—" she's cut off as a pale hand, a hand I recognize immediately, a hand that I've _drawn_, shoots out from behind me, grabbing my file from Jessica.

"There's no need," he starts smoothly, "Dr. Denali has other patients to see." He mentions to those waiting around, some of them looking at us curiously.

I can do nothing but shuffle my feet.

"But Dr. Cullen...you're on your lunch break," Jessica points out, her lower lip sticking out a bit. She leans on her elbows, and the top button of her white button down comes undone. Edward's eyes remain on her face and though I'll never admit it, I'm impressed he didn't look. Maybe he's used to her now.

"I'll go afterwards."

"But…"

"Jessica," he leans in a bit and I watch in fascination as Jessica mumbles out something too low to hear, her cheeks coloring. "Ms. Swan is a close friend of my family's. I'll take care of her."

He turns, finally facing me, and gives me a charming smile, one that I respond to involuntarily.

"Hi, Bella."

"Hey." My voice is low, but he hears me. He takes a step towards the long hallway with doors on each side, mentioning to me to follow with him. Not in front of him, nor behind him, but in step with him. I can't help but appreciate the gesture.

I could feel the nurse's eyes boring into the back of my head but I force myself to look forward.

"How are you?"

"I'm good. How's Esme?"

He falters in his step but carries on without acknowledging it, his shiny black shoes making soft _tap, tap, tap _with each step. "She's good. She demanded that I invite you to dinner."

"Oh?" I can't help but be surprised.

"Mhm," he hums, his eyes staring straight ahead. We come to a stop in front of an off-white colored door with the plate "Dr. Edward Cullen" shining proudly on it. I squint to look at it closer and my eyes widen when I see small dents on, leaving behind the shape of a roaring lion. "Esme made it; she used a nail and a hammer," he informs me, chuckling at bit towards the end, and my heart races as the sound reaches my ears.

He opens the door and allows me to pass through, closing the door behind him. As I move to pull out the chair opposite of the big leather one, his hand encloses around the back supporter of it, and he pulls it out for me. I'm surprised at his manners; no man had ever pulled a chair out for me. _As if you know many._

"So will you be coming to dinner?"

"Will Carlisle be there?" His e yes snap towards me and I see confliction emotions rage in his jade green orbs.

He hesitates in his answer, but gives me one regardless. "No. It'll be my mother, my brother and his fiancée, and I."

My eyebrows rise. "When is it?"

A smile spreads across his face. "I don't know, my mother will tell you."

I nod at him. He opens my file, getting out a pair of black rimmed glasses from his white lab coat. He examines my file as I examine him. All I can think is how good those glasses look on him. The drawing in my mind changes; it's not just of him, but of his glasses and a book in hand, perhaps his tongue peeking out from between his lips as his eyes concentrate on the words in whatever book he's holding. It takes me a moment to shake myself of the thoughts to concentrate on what he's saying.

"Sorry?" I mumble out.

He repeats himself, "Your vitamin levels are low. We did the Coenzyme Q10 test, and the levels are below normal."

"I'll start taking vitamins, then?" Why a question…

"We'll establish a baseline for you first, and then you can take the accurate supplements." He gets out a fresh piece of paper and a pencil. He starts drawing horizontal and vertical lines all over the paper, making perfect little squares that both my artist mind and hands are jealous of. He starts by detailing which vitamin to take within the squares and then hands the paper to me.

_Vitamin B1 Thiamine_

_Vitamin C Ascorbic Acid_

_Omega 3 Fish Oil. _

He hands me a small notepaper with the list and walks with me as I leave his office. We walk in silence towards the reception and he says nothing as he hands back my file to Jessica, who's openly glaring at me now. He signs somewhere inside the file and hands it back to Jessica, murmuring something about the new appointment.

She bats her eyelashes at him, but he smiles and turns back to me. "Have lunch with me."

I gape at his sudden question, and blush as his green eyes gaze down at me from his height. My eyes nervously shift toward Jessica, whose hands are clutching my file tight enough to leave creases.

"I'm sure you need some questions answered," he adds. It's a dirty move because he knows Carlisle's behavior must've left an imprint on me. I agree and he gives a boyish grin, letting me know he's getting the car.

I stay behind to grab my next appointment date from Jessica.

"Dr. Denali is available for another appointment within two weeks. 3:45 pm." I don't miss how she conveniently gave me the time when Edward would've already left for his lunch break.

"Thanks." I linger, trying to bring up Edward. I don't have to worry, though.

"So," she hesitates for a few seconds, "How do you know _your_ doctor?" I don't miss the implications, either.

"I met him through his mother," I reply, stalling. "She introduced us; it was sort of like a blind date." I'm not technically lying.

"Well, good luck with that one," she replies coldly, flicking her blond hair behind her shoulder.

I furrow my brows. "Excuse me?"

"Dr. Cullen. Lots of baggage there," she hums, her eyes sparkling. Gossiping is a hobby of hers, it's obvious.

"Baggage?"

"Oh yes, he's never been the same since his daughter's death."

"_Daughter_?" I repeat like a parrot.

"Yeah, I think her name was Vanessa. She died in a fire accident."

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><p><em>Whoooaa, longest chapter yet! I decided<em>_ to keep Jessica's role the same as she had in Twilight. I know I'm weaving a web of small answers that demand more questions, but if it helps, everything will be told soon and then it'll just be a road to recovery! :)  
><em>

**Leave me a review! I'll do a special little dance jig! ;) ****  
><strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**I write in present tense. When I use past tense, it's to show something that has already happened in the story without using **_italics_**.**

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><p><em>Daughter. <em>His _daughter. _

The soft purr of the Volvo and the gentle vibrations are soothing, and I can deduce from my normal reactions to Edward's close proximity that were my mind not on Jessica's words, I would've been nervous sitting next to him. His left hand is on the steering wheel, long and nimble fingers curled around the stretched leather while the other rests on the protruding hand break, index finger tapping gently to the rhythm of _Imaginary Enemy_ whispering through the stereo.

The silence inside the car is both comfortable and uncomfortable. His relaxed posture screams _comfortable _while my fingers digging into the sides of my thighs scream _uncomfortable._ He doesn't notice, or pretends not to. He doesn't try to start a conversation. Everything about this situation feels odd—I'm just waiting for myself to start freaking out about him being a psycho killer and try to claw my way out of the car.

_His daughter._

"Where are we going?" I question him instead.

"There's an Italian place just a few blocks down. It's my favorite."

I hum in response.

I turn my face towards him in the effect to shield my eyes from the glaring afternoon sun, and the scar of his knuckles catches my attention. In the café last time, it had seemed like a knife wound, but now, in broad daylight, it's clear that the skin around the scar has been burned. The skin on his hand is smooth with wrinkles, a sign of excessive hand washing, but the area surrounding the scar is plain and shiny smooth; there are haggard lines across it, as if the wound had been initially stitched together without much care given or professionally.

One thing is clear: he was in that fire that killed _his_ daughter. Not Esme and Carlisle's daughter, but _his_.

I purse my lips to prevent from saying anything that I may regret later.

I can feel the tips of my fingertips going cold...numb, as the pressure takes its toll. I release the denim from both of my hands, folding them together on my lap instead. I can see his head turn towards me from the corner of my eyes, but I force myself to look forward and nowhere else.

_I'm feeling something twisting under my skin_

It's like a knife, pressing forth again and again, without the intent to hurt, but to mark. _A mark._ I can feel my eyes glazing over, focusing instead on the picture fluttering through my mind; the picture of a scar, of a scar caused by a fire. My right index finger starts following the lines of the scar on the back of my left hand, unintentionally. I follow each crease, each uneven line on the marred flesh. A jolt shakes me out of my reverie, leaving me wide open to my own eyes, showing me parts of myself that I had turned a blind eye on.

_Breaking me down  
>Taking control<br>Leaving nothing_

How did I let this family get so under my skin? My art has always been a release for me, a clingy one, but release none the less. Every time I thought of my mother, I'd take out the anger on a wall or a paper until my hand was tired so much, it would hurt to even hold a pencil. Where did this obsession come from?

Edward parks the car on the street, and helps me out of the passenger seat like a gentleman, without making me feel like I'm disabled. The inside of Rosebud On Rush is relaxing; there are soft chairs surrounding tables along the wall, while the middle part of the room has a shallow pool with blue water, a decorated bridge going over it. It's dark, too; the only lights on are the tiny decorative blue, green, and pink bulbs that glow off of the mirrors placed strategically on the walls around the room.

Edward's hand goes to my lower back, pressing slightly, leading the way even though he kept in step with me. We are seated by a female waitress in all-white customary clothing at a table near the door, a candle lit in front of us. I don't feel out of place here even with my ripped jeans and a plain black tee.

"This place is…" I can't find the right words for it. Romantic? This isn't a date. Nice? It's more than nice. Perfect? Not really.

He gives me a boyish grin, fire from the candle reflecting in his deep green eyes. They look darker now, probably because of the light. Instead of the emerald color I'm used to, they look nearly a glowing deep sea blue. I blink.

"I like this place," he tells me in a low voice.

"It's pretty." I'm afraid to raise my voice above a whisper, afraid the comfortable atmosphere might disappear.

_His daughter was pretty, too. _

He'd left his white lab coat inside the car, but Jessica's words about him being my doctor nag at the back of my head.

"Is this okay?" I question hesitantly.

His brows furrow. "What is?"

_The fact that you and your family lied to me without a reason._

"This," I reply, my hand motioning towards both of us. "You're my doctor, aren't you? Isn't there a policy?" I stutter out, struggling to word it without sound crude.

His eyes relax. "Of course it is. You're a close family friend." He winks at me.

The waiter's arrival halts further conversation, and we both don't say anything but our order. He tells me the mushroom ravioli is one of the most delicious meals on the list, and I order just that while he orders some chicken Parmesan. I decline his wine offer, preferring the sweet taste of a soda instead of the bitter taste of alcohol at the back of my tongue.

A different waiter brings out the meals along with breadsticks while both of us sip cold Pepsi. It's obvious Edward comes to eat at this restaurant quite often, because the two start up a conversation from a point I can't understand; it's as if they picked up right where they'd left off last time. I twirl my straw in the glass; he doesn't make me wait at all, closing up the talk in a way that catches me off guard: in fluent Italian, Edward murmurs to the waiter, his eyes trained on me.

"He's a good friend," he offers as an explanation at my confused expression.

I nod. "Come here that often?" I try to joke, but my emotions, too, now are a jumbled mess. I don't think I failed terribly, because a smile lights up his face. He smiles a lot, I've noticed. Sometimes it's a real smile and other times, it's forced. I can tell because his genuine smile is crooked, one side lifting up higher than the other, and the corner of his eyes crinkle. When it's a forced smile, his eyes don't change, but a controlled smile graces his lips. His smiles tell me more about him than he has.

"What can I say? I love the food here," he replies.

Silence envelops us again as we both eat. The soft piano music in the background sets a calming mood and the murmurs of the conversations are only a hum floating around. I try to find a way to bring up Carlisle, because that's the main reason I'm here. The food on the plate lessens and lessens, and finally we're finished, and I have yet to bring up the topic.

I'm fidgeting, it's obvious to me, and it's obvious to him. My eyes are darting from the candle in the middle of the table and the empty place, looking anywhere and everywhere but him. I know the exact number of couples, family and staff, but I have no idea if Edward's looking at me.

Every human has this instinct inside them that _makes_ them look at the person who is staring at them. Like earlier, I felt Jessica glaring at me, yet with Edward, there's this intensity that never leaves. Even if he's not looking at me, there's that tingle that goes through my vein that's nearest to him. I can never tell if he's looking at me or not unless I _look_ at him, and I can't right now.

I hear a sigh, just after the table is cleared after us, and we're left with small cups of chocolate moose with caramel drizzled on top.

"Carlisle told me what happened," he starts. My eyes snap to his in shock, and then I can't look away. He holds my attention the way he's looking at me—as if he wants to tell me everything, as if he's struggling to say things that he can't. Things he won't.

"Did he?" My voice doesn't shake, but my hands do.

"What happened…what you saw, what Esme did," he hesitates, rubbing both of his hands over his face, suddenly looking so much different than the boyish person who kept smiling in my company. He looks older, _wiser_, as if he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.

I can feel his frustrations as he fails to get words out, and I suddenly want nothing more than to soothe him. His fingers fumble together, his hands clasping together and then separating. There's anxiety clearly visible on his face, and I don't see a son who is defending his father, but a person who has lost someone he loved—loves—the most in the world.

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><p><em>It seems the chapters are getting longer and longer. : I personally like 1000something words because then I don't feel pressured to write more and THEN update. Bleh. __Edward's chance to explain about Carlisle is coming up! :) I didn't have time to re-read this chapter, so please forgive any mistakes!  
><em>

**Leave me a review-I'll do the penguin dance!****  
><strong>


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**I write in present tense. When I use past tense, it's to show something that has already happened in the story without using **_italics_**.**

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><p><em>I can feel his frustrations as he fails to get words out, and I suddenly want nothing more than to soothe him. His fingers fumble together, his hands clasping together and then separating. There's anxiety clearly visible on his face, and I don't see a son who is defending his father, but a person who has lost someone he loved—loves—the most in the world.<em>

_x.~.x.~.x.~.x.~.x.~x.~.x.~.x.~.x.~.x.~.x.~.x.~.x.~.x.~.x.~.x.~x.~.x.~.x.~.x.~.x.~.x_

He rubs his hands over his face once more and then folds them together on top of the table. The light outside is fading, and the candle light is becoming more and more prominent as it contradicts the darkness from outside.

"He loves her," Edward starts softly.

I'm tempted to retort, but his expression is begging me not to, so I don't. I know what it's like to try to explain a loved one's actions to another, trying to make sense of it all, processing it. I had tried many, many times to defend Renee's actions to Charlie, because even if I didn't agree with them, I didn't want Charlie to think of her in any way but as a good mother.

When he doesn't say anything else, I bring up Carlisle's actions, rather than asking about Vanessa like I really want to. "Why does he control her?"

His head snaps up. "He doesn't."

I nearly snort, but I catch myself. My hand does fold into a light fist, my fingernails brushing lightly against my palm.

"He's just very…protective. Things happened…" _Like Vanessa's death,_ I want to comment. "And Esme hasn't been the same since."

"Protective? You weren't there, Edward. He _ordered_ her to leave, and when that didn't work, he _lied_ and told her Vanessa was waiting."

He's hesitant to answer, and he doesn't really want to. I can tell because if he was at lost for words, his lips would be parting and closing, but now, they're pursed together tightly. "You don't understand," he finally says.

"Then make me understand," I plead. I should be walking away from this whole mess. I shouldn't be sitting here, asking for him to answer about the mess of a family he has. How long have I know them? Not long at all. Why am I so invested?

He interrupts my answer-less thoughts. "Nessie died when I was 19. Esme and I were the only ones home when the fire happened." He clears his throat, his eyes trained on the table. I'm glad for that, because I don't think I can meet his eyes. He didn't owe me any answers, yet he was giving them to me freely because of my insistence. "I was mad at Esme and Carlisle for…something that I couldn't understand."

"What do you mean?" The question slips before I can stop it.

"Vanessa's full responsibility. You have to understand me, Bella. I loved her so much, I still do, but I was 19. I was in medical school, and the only time off I had, they made me come home. I wanted to live, I wanted to party and I felt like they'd taken it all away from me." His fingers tremble just a tiny bit. He's giving me answers, yet more questions are coming up. This is a different side to him. He's always relaxed, and I've never had the hunch he might've been irresponsible at a time in his life. Not everyone's like me.

"I was home for summer vacation, instead of going to New York with Jasper like we'd planned. I had headphones on, the music was too loud and I didn't hear Esme tell me to watch Vanessa. I didn't…" his brows furrow, and his hands wind together and unwind. "I wasn't sure what happened…I'm still not sure what happened. I didn't hear anything and I had refused to come down from my room until I smelled the smoke. The kitchen was burning and there was fire everywhere and I couldn't see anything, but I looked for her, and looked, and didn't stop until the firemen forced me out and into the ambulance." The pain is clear through the croaking of his voice.

He lets out a humorless chuckle, his eyes never meeting mine.

I don't ask anything else, but he continues. "It was passed off as an accident, but the guilt…it ate at me until I broke."

I can feel my bottom lip tremble and I can see a glimpse at his slightly red eyes, yet he doesn't shed a tear.

"I went to therapy for one year, regularly. I came to terms with Vanessa's death and I used my guilt as a motivation to get through medical school and my residency with the best results."

"And Esme?"

"Esme's mental stability became fragile; her grief won over everything else. She couldn't be let near a kitchen, or a fire, or even kids for some time because she'd have panic attacks that would directly trigger at her mind." He pauses for a few moments, a thumb rubbing against his jaw. "She tried to talk to a psychiatrist. Carlisle wanted to be in the same room with her, but when he was, she used him as a shield. He refused to leave her alone. Gradually, he refused therapy for her all together."

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><p><em>Sorry about the delay! <em>_There will be an outtake, I just don't know when.  
><em>

_Please keep in mind that this is my first story that has the solid ground only I build. So it's a bit shaky, and I'm really nervous about this chapter. Many thanks to lovely Maria who read through and assured me it was okay.  
><em>

__To everyone who added me on Facebook: I've had a lovely time chatting with you guys. Thanks for being so wonderful. *Hearts*

**Leave me a review-I'll do the, errr, chicken dance! I'm running out of dances...****  
><strong>


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**I write in present tense. When I use past tense, it's to show something that has already happened in the story without using **_italics_**.**

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><p>I couldn't sleep. I had wanted to ask more about Vanessa, but I could tell Edward was tired—not just from the night, but wary from carrying the weight. He'd come to terms with his guilt, but that nagging feeling never left. It might've gotten pushed to one side and then another during the day, but in the dark, when thoughts are most private, when they don't stop roaming through the mind, the guilt hits like a bus.<p>

I rub my right hand as I feel a tinge of throb settle in after drawing non-stop for the last few hours.

I had mixed feelings about Carlisle. On one hand, to go through those stages of grief, to witness your family going through those phrases…. But on the other hand, he refused therapy for Esme. I understood his protectiveness, but him being a doctor himself, he ought to know holding things back is never good. He even lied to her just to get her out of my house the other day. Just as that thought hits me, I can feel anger bubbling up slowly inside. Why would he continue to feed Esme's mental instability? Is it for the control that he achieves by doing so? Knowing he can do or order as he pleases as long as he keeps Vanessa alive in Esme's mind?

Esme…poor Esme. I frown into the darkness, turning to my side, holding my comforter tightly to my chest. She needed to talk to someone. Her delusions of her grand-daughter being alive would do nothing to help her. She needs the therapy, professional health. From her behavior in class and in Carlisle's presence, I could see clear as day how she uses Carlisle as her defensive barrier. She's unguarded in class, while she's reserved in Carlisle's presence, almost as if she's afraid to say or do something that he wouldn't approve of. The only time I've ever seen her emotions displayed on her face, free of any guilty or burden is when she's drawing.

I've yet to see inside their house, but I doubt any of her artwork is put on display. It would almost be a therapeutic method. To see the thing that makes her happy surrounding her all around.

My eyes slide over to the wall across my bedroom window, the moon's light casting an eerie glow over my most current drawing—from the scarred hand cradling a small child's head to the blissful look on the baby's features. The child looks nothing like Edward, and I realize with a startling thought that neither did Vanessa, apart from the hair; the same hair Esme shares. I can feel the pulsing in my temples, so I move my thoughts to someone else, trying to convince myself that this isn't obsession, that I just want to help someone who is my first real friend that I constantly see.

Edward…Edward is a different story all together. I have a hard time picturing him being that young college boy who wanted to have freedom for the first time; he made his 19-year-old sound so immature…it's a hard image to conjure because of his own personality and his career status.

There's still a little tingling on my lower back from where his hand had rested as he'd guided me to his car and then inside my house. Before I could've invited him in, he'd left, murmuring something about having rounds early in the morning. Being around him feels weird, different. Emmett is one of the guys that I could compare the feelings of having a male friend, but I'd never met Em in person. We'd talked online and on the phone, and I'd felt nothing but warmth from and towards him. With Edward, there's blushing, tingling, maybe my heart pumping faster…isn't this how those love stories in the romance novels start? But life isn't like stori—

_Buzz. _

_Buzz. _

I slide open my phone, and my lips curl into a smile as I see Emmett's name on the bright screen.

_Hi Bells. You asleep? _

My fingers type back a response as fast as I can. It's been too long since I'd heard from him.

_Nope. Kinda early outside. _

_Buzz. _

_Buzz._

_ I can't remember the time changes._

_You never could, _I tease him.

_How are you?_

I wonder why he hasn't called instead of texting me as I type back a reply, _Good. You? _

_Buzz. _

_Buzz. _

_Great. Packing everything up and sending in applications to see if I can lease something in Chicago. _

I bite my lip down anxiously as I think of letting him know that I'm in Chicago, but that's a territory we've never discussed, an idea that we never proposed. I wonder if we'll ever meet, and if it'll be awkward. I'd never lied to him, and I'm sure—I hope—he hasn't ever to me, but the image in mind conjured up of someone I've talked to could be different than reality. What if I'm not what he'd be expecting? I shake my head lightly to rid of these thoughts; we haven't met, and there isn't anything suggesting that we might. Will life always be full of 'what if's?

_When are you moving here? _

_Buzz. _

_Buzz. _

_October. _

He'll be in the same city as me in a number of days. I'm left wide awake with the sudden thought of telling him we'll be in the same city.

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><p><em>Still remember me? ^^' Sorry about any mistakes, I didn't have time to read over.<br>_

_I don't have any excuse, really. I just couldn't figure out how to write this chapter, and going straight to the dinner seemed too abrupt... _  
><em>Anyway, thanks for reading, as always. :) <em>

**Leave me a review? ****  
><strong>


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

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><p>White. Pure, pasty, untainted white. Glass with metal designs door, maroon and caramel color wooden floor, steel kitchen and pasty white walls with no pictures. I blink. And blink again.<p>

Instead of calling as Edward indicated, Esme had shown up at my doorstep early in the morning to drag me over to her house. She'd sat on my couch, her dress pants and loose white shirt without a wrinkle, hands clasped together on her knees, a big smile on her face. I'd had the quickest shower, dressed in whatever came into my hands first and I was sitting in the front seat beside Edward before my mind could register what was happening. I thought I'd be going over for dinner in a cab at night instead of being dragged during breakfast time.

There's a small tingle on the small of my back where Edward's hand presses a little firmer to push me forth, snapping me out of my stupor. My feet move on their own record while my mind is blank…just like the house. This isn't a home; it looks like a hotel room that one just needs to crash into or a house to show off. It's not a place where memories are, it's not a place where happiness surrounds. This is just a roof and walls and people walking along; home is where a sense of belonging is. It's a comfortable place that is the base of a family's identity, yet there's nothing here.

Edward steers me towards the kitchen, and my coat is no longer needed. There's smell of cinnamon, eggs and sweetness in the warm air. The dining table is decorated tastefully with white and gold table cloth, and small, silver place-mats with white dishes.

My eyes widen at the variety of food. There are a few creamy glazed cinnamon rolls, pancakes, three small fruit crepes, a bowl of fruit, orange juice, toast and eggs. Esme can't really go near the stove, so who cooked?

My chair is pulled out for me, as is Esme's, and only then I notice high chair stationed at the end of the dining table, no doubt Vanessa's. My eyes stay glued to that part of the room, my mind trying to conjure up images of Vanessa sitting there, in a happy—complete—family.

I peel my eyes away to Esme, who is staring at me with a smile, holding up a deep plate full of omelets. I use my fork and knife to pick up the smallest one, biting my lip when I notice a small part of it hanging over my plate. I can hear the _click _and the _clank_ of the forks and knives running across the plates from both sides of me. Esme's sitting at the front of the chair, the one I'd always called the 'head seat' and Edward's sitting to my right, next to me. I would've thought he'd sit next to Esme.

As his elbow touches mine lightly, I look over to him. His eyes are full of mirth and one side of his lips are curled up. My eyes linger a little too long on his soft, moist lips as they form the words, "_Eat_." It shakes me out of my stupor and I look back down on my untouched plate. I pick up my knife and fork and cut off a small piece, only then noticing melted cheddar cheese inside the folded omelet, with diced green onion, mushrooms, tomatoes and spinach laying on top of the crispy yellow egg with cheddar and Swiss cheese covering the vegetables. I almost felt full just by looking at it.

I stay silent, because Esme and Edward are. Maybe it's a house rule to not talk during eating. Esme insists on pulling some fruit in my plate. I haven't eaten this much since…Renee, and only because she forced me. I would never make this many things in the morning, not only because I wouldn't have the will, but also because I wouldn't be able to eat even two pieces of toast.

"Who cooked?" I finally ask.

"Edward." Esme beams at her son, while the tips of his ears turn red.

I take a bite of the omelet, and a hum sounds from the back of my throat involuntarily. The cheese just adds to the flavor of the vegetables and the eggs.

I don't need to say anything; it's apparent by Edward's shy smile that he knows I appreciate his cooking after my hum.

Breakfast is finished with a little less than half of my omelet left unfinished. Esme waves it off before she sends Edward to show me around the house.

He leads me through a little hallway on the other side of the kitchen, and it's back into the living room—only, there are stairs to the left side of the room visible this time. The stairs are covered in golden plate paint, with black steps. Half way up, the stairs start getting wider and wider, until two different routes appear.

Edward points to the left. "There's a balcony out there, with a small grill and a hot tub, and a slide."

"Slide?" He continues to walk up towards the left side. I follow him.

"To the pool. My brother threw a tantrum until he'd gotten that when we first moved here."

"Wasn't he supposed to be here today?"

"He's coming in this afternoon. He started driving two days ago."

"Driving?" My eyebrows are raised. From Washington to Chicago?

We reach the second floor, and there are two doors on each side of us, with a long glass window overlooking

"Him and Rose, my sister-in-law, are big on road trips," he explains.

"Not you?"

He stops walking and turns to me, the green in his eyes looking a little darker than I remembered. "I would like to, but I can't abandon my family." There's nothing bitter in his voice, but he has a wistful expression on his face that makes my head race with scenarios; maybe he's talking about his brother leaving the state, or his father who's been concentrated on Esme so much that abandoned his sons and his own sense of intelligence as far as Esme's concerned.

He lightly wraps his long fingers around the crook of my elbow, leading me to the first door. He swings it open, and just as he announces, "My room," my thoughts spin and his previous words catch up with me.

_Washington to Chicago. _

_Arriving _today_. _

_Sister-in-law…_Rose_. _

My voice is a bit shaky as I ask Edward, my eyes not even glancing at his room.

"What's your brother's name?"

"Emmett."

Whirls of emotions catch up with me and I sway on my feet as my world spins.

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><p><em>Thanks so much for the response to this little story, guys! Consider me completely overwhelmed. ^_^ I'm trying to pick up a little bit of pace, because there's going to be lots of healing done soon as the Cullen family entwines with Bella. :) <em>_  
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	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

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><p><em>I'm going to meet Emmett. <em>

I don't fall, or even lose my step, but I feel as if I'm spinning from chest up. I pinch shut my eyes and then blink a few times to get rid of this dizziness. I can feel Edward wrapping an arm around my waist and whispering soothingly into my ear before I'm sitting on his bed with him kneeling on the floor before me, his hands grasping mine on my legs.

His brows are furrowed and he's offering me a bottle of water from the little fridge beside his bed. I try to concentrate on the white wall behind his head with a little hole in it. Instead of taking a drink of the cold water, I put the bottle against my cheek.

_Emmett is going to be in front of me today. _

"You're taking your vitamins, right?" he asks me, concerned.

I nod my head, and I'm not lying. I've been taking them religiously so I wouldn't have to go back to the hospital. I can still remember the sterile floor and the uncomfortable feeling of suffocation and the _smell_ of illness. I've never liked going to the doctors, and just because Edward treated me last time isn't going to change my mind. I'm not in any hurry to see the receptionist again.

He lays the back of his head against my forehead before twisting his lips. He can't find anything wrong with me. There isn't anything wrong with me, at least not physically. Mentally, it's a different story; my mind is like pieces of puzzles, trying to put them all back to one picture, but it seems as if pieces of different puzzles are coming in and trying to make a place for themselves.

It isn't that I don't want to see Emmett—I've been talking to him for years, yet I've never wondered how he was in real life, or what he looked like until the possibility of us actually meeting came to be.

"I'm fine," I mutter.

_Should I tell him who I am? That I already know who he is? _

Edward nods and gets to his feet, looking around nervously, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "So…my room. I didn't think it was dirty enough to make you feel faint." I try not to read too much into his concern; he's doing just what every doctor would.

My lips quirk up into a smile, shaking my wayward thoughts away. His joking did exactly what he'd intended—lightened the atmosphere. My eyes take in the view of the room. Whereas the plain white bothered me on the first floor of the house, the off-white in this room gives it an eerie glow. There's a small balcony outside just beside his bed, and a connected bathroom to the right of the room, with a closet attached to it. There's a bookshelf, empty save for just a handful of books. What I like most about the room is there is no light anywhere—the square cut off of the roof with a clear glass covering the hole sends little diamonds of different colored lights dancing across the room. I would've loved to see what his room looked at night.

_Will he think I'm a stalker? _

"I like it. It's so…_you_." The words are out before I can think about them.

"It's so _me_?"

"Open," I reply. And he is open, just like the room. He's always answered my questions when I asked him, even if sometimes too vague for my liking.

"I'm glad you approve." He nods his head.

_Tell or don't tell? _

I get up to my feet slowly, and nearly giggle as Edward walks a step towards me and leans in, wanting for me to fall. When I don't, a sheepish look crosses his face and, and he shrugs brushing off his actions.

My fingers run down the spine of the first book: _The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming._ Out of seven books on the shelf, this book is the one with most damages to the spine—and not only from being read too much. I can almost imagine Edward's 19 year old self rebelling by throwing this book.

"It's always been my favorite book," he murmurs softly behind me. I didn't expect him to be so close to me; he's close enough for me to smell spearmint and a hint of cinnamon from the morning breakfast. He's so silent. I can feel the heat from his thin button down shirt brushing against my back so very lightly. His right arm reaches across as if to wrap around me and my breath catches, but his fingers find the book just as I left go.

"Have you read it?"

I shake my head no, because I'm sure my voice would waver from either nervousness or from his closeness.

"It's a good book. I've always enjoyed the art history and the emotional whirl. It's about the difficulties that love brings." He thrusts the paperback towards me. "Want to give it a try? We can even have those little tea parties and discussions," he jokes.

I take it, looking at the synopsis at the back. "You mean a book club?"

"Yeah, those." He grins at me and it's too hard not to grin back.

"You'll have to wear a pink suit. With a fedora and all."

He makes a face at me. "Seriously?"

I try to mask my expression into a serious one. "Yes."

He narrows his eyes at me, and when one side of his lips quirk up into a smirk, I know my amusement is given away. I don't have to hide my grin anymore.

"Okay," I concede, shrugging, "I'll read it.

He rocks on his feet for a second, just looking at me, just as the doorbell downstairs rings and a voice rings out, "Honey, I'm home!"

I know that voice. I'd recognize that voice anywhere.

_Emmett. _

* * *

><p><em>I can't thank you guys enough for your continued support! :) <em>_  
><em>

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	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**Enjoy.  
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><p><em>Emmett<em> is here. With my heart pounding in my chest and the blood rushing through my ears muffling all sounds, I walk behind Edward, dragging my feet. There's a skip in Edward's step and from that I can deduce he's excited, even if he has lingering feeling of bitterness towards his brother for abandoni-_leaving_ his family behind. He doesn't rush enough to leave me behind completely. I can't see his face to tell if he is feeling impatient at my lack of excitement.

We reach the bottom step and I can finally hear properly again. There are three different voices mumbling-Esme, Emmett and Rose. As we get closer still, I can make out the questions Esme is asking: how the trip was, if they had enough sleep, if they'd eaten and if they are hungry.

My ears perk up when I hear Emmett's voice say, "Starving, Ma!"

A feminine voice-Rose-responds with a low, "Just wait until lunch time."

My feet pause in the hallway, and Edward doesn't stop this time. I'm thankful because I feel this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach...warmth...at hearing Emmett's voice, and maybe it's because I _had_ been looking forward to seeing him and hearing him in real life. At the same time, I wish Edward has stopped because instead of pale panic clear on my face, I have a small smile. Maybe nothing will go wrong.

I walk into the dining room, my eyes first finding Edward as he locks one arm around his brother's giant shoulder and welcomes him home. I watch as he goes over to his sister-in-law next, opening his arms wide. I can't see anything but platinum blonde hair from above Edward's shoulder; she's tall enough for him to rest his chin on her head. I am momentarily disheartened that Emmett never told me got married. I had know he'd gotten engaged, but not married.

Esme comes to stand next to me, grabbing my right arm in a light grip. She smiles at me in comfort, and perhaps it's because the nervousness is displayed in me face. Expecting Emmett? I knew he would be here, but amidst those chaos in my head, I didn't even think of Rose. I've tried imagining Emmett a few times whenever I'd spoken to him on the phone, but never Rose.

"You're not good at meeting new people, are you?" Esme whispers to me.

"No," I respond back in the same tone. I turn to look at her, silently questioning what gave me away.

"You have that same expression on your face as you did when you first met Edward."

My cheeks start feeling a little hot as I remember back to the day and before I know it, Esme is pulling me with her towards the couple.

"Emmett, I want you to meet Bella," she says, beaming.

My eyes finally look at him, and aside from his kind eyes, he's completely different than how I thought he would be. Brown curly hair, deep blue eyes and dimples. And tall; really, really tall.

The smile on his face is gentle and there's a spark in his eyes. I speak up just to see if he will recognize my voice, "Hi." A part of me is hoping he will, but a smaller part is willing him not to.

The Emmett I know from the Internet knows all of my secrets; he knows who I am more than I do myself and if Emmett-Edward's brother-recognizes me right now, I'll be laid bare in front of him, stripped of skin and any defensive walls. I'd be left in scattered pieces.

The spark stays in his eyes, but there isn't any outward evidence or change that would suggest he recognizes me. The part of me that wanted him to recognize me is hurt, but I push it away; night time has enough hours to deal with petty little feelings. One of his hand clasps mine in a handshake, but it doesn't feel formal because his other hand comes to wrap itself around the outside of my hand-engulfing and leaving me feeling this fuzzy warmth at his approval.

"Nice to finally meet you! I've been hearing about you nonstop from the cookie monster and Ma." His hand grip is gentle and his voice isn't as loud as it was when he was talking to Esme. I'm unable to mumble out anything so I just smile. His smile widens and the dimples appear in his cheeks, and I can't imagine a different Emmett in my head anymore. This is him, this is _so_ him.

Rose comes to stand beside him. While her hand curls territorially around Emmett's elbow, the pearly white smile in her face leads me to believe that it's just how she's used to standing-by his side.

"Hi, I'm Rosalie." I smile shyly at her, taking her extended hand in mine to shake. While Emmett's handshake was warm, yet not loose, Rosalie's is firm, not exactly in a welcoming way but not in bitterness, either. I can't call her Rose anymore, because by her self-introduction, it's clear that nickname is for those close to her.

As soon as my hand is free, Esme wraps her arm around my shoulder. She leads me towards their living room though the hallway Edward and I had just entered from, staying by my side.

"How was the drive?" I ask, hoping that the conversation will make this awkward feeling of intrusion go away. This is a family reunion-the wayward son returning back home, yet it felt like anything but. Esme is all smiles and there isn't a spark of bitterness coming from Edward; he looks genuinely happy to see his brother and sister-in-law again.

"Oh man, it was great!" Emmett beings enthusiastically, while Rosalie rolls her eyes at her at him.

"He decided it would be a good idea to eat the bacon omelet and the international crepe passport with Nutella in Cedar Rapids. I almost threw him out of the car." The look of sheer agony at the remembrance on Rosalie's face sends the rest of us laughing, while Emmett shrugs sheepishly.

As Rosalie continues to tell tales of their travel from Washington, I listen closely. My mind goes to James, wondering where he is right now, if he's still traveling around America. As Rosalie describes the beautiful views of the mountains and light snow already falling, and passing through the borders, I wonder briefly how life would have been like if I had just insisted that James take me along with him; I would've been able to see the hidden treasures lost amongst the growing population and pollution.

The talking and excited questions stop with Rosalie's next question. "Where is Carlisle?"

"He's at work," Esme replies coolly.

"Work? But he's always here with you..." she trails off.

I hang my head down and when I feel her icy stare on me, I know she has connected the dots even though Esme or Edward haven't said a word, and I fidget. Edward tries to start the conversation again, trying to drag the attention away from me. He's sitting close enough to reach his hand over to my knee, rubbing his thumb comfortably. Even the heat and the small tingling sensation can't drive Rosalie's cold glare away.

And that feeling of intrusion is back, tenfold.

* * *

><p><em>Thank you! <em>_  
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	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

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><p>The soft tips of the brush rubbing against my scalp feel good, like getting a head massage. And then there are two gentle hands brushing their fingers through my long brown hair, smoothing it over, pulling a few strands in one direction and then the other. Her index and middle fingers settle on both of my temples, rubbing in tiny, soothing circles before her small nails scrape against my scalp, and I can't stop my eyes from falling shut. I've never had my head massaged before; now or when I was little.<p>

She'd brought me to her room as soon as Emmett and Rosalie had finished their lunch; it may have been because of the tension around the table, but I can't be sure. I can still see Rosalie's look of disbelief in my mind. I can't help but think of how wrong she is for Emmett. I'd always known him to be sensitive and funny, and after today, I realize he's also sweet. His form is intimidating, but his dimples make him approachable to just about anyone. How can he be the same person who ran away from his family in their time of need?

Rosalie is the opposite of that; or at least seems so. The only thing that stays on my mind is the judgment she'd passed on me because of Carlisle's absence. The feeling in the pit of my stomach—of not being accepted—weighs me down even when I know it's irrational, even when I tell myself that Rosalie's opinion shouldn't matter.

Esme picks up the brush to run it through my hair again, and I'm happy to be distracted from my thoughts. I force my eyes open so I can look at her; she's standing behind me, but I can see her through the long mirror in front of me—a content smile on her face, her eyes trained on my hair. She puts the brush down on my lap, putting her hand on one of her hips, assessing my hair. She grabs a few strands and twists them one way and then another few strands the other way. She lets my hair fall still while her lips tug down into a frown.

"Do you want to braid it?" I ask her, because it looks like the hair style she's trying to do isn't working out.

"You know," she starts, "Having a daughter is a different joy all in itself. I love my boys, but Vanessa…I can have makeup parties with her, we can go shopping for girls stuff and she used to love it when I played with her hair. Of course, she likes running too much now to sit still while I take my time." My heart aches for her. I want to turn around and hug her and tell her that Vanessa isn't alive anymore so that she doesn't have to live with this pain, but it isn't my call. And if I'm entirely honest with myself, I don' t think I would be able to take her reaction to the information very well, not to forget about Edward and Emmett, so I keep my lips tightly pursed.

Playing with my hair seems to make her happy, but she's always happy. I've never seen her with anything less than a smile on her face. The brush had been new, though; it had the tags still on it. I wonder if I'm the first person she's brought to her room, if I'm the first girl since Vanessa whose hair she's got to brush.

She nods, and starts parting my hair into three sections. I look around her room—at least as much as I can see from the mirror and the sides of my eyes. It's white, just like the rest of the house, but it feels different. Edward's room was open and colorful, but Esme's is…darker. There isn't much light source from the windows which are covered with thick purple drapes, and the bed setting matches the same color. It's such a contrast to her drawings—it leaves my mind reeling, but I don't feel uncomfortable here.

I look back at the mirror when I see a flash of blonde from the corner of my eye. Rosalie stands, leaning on the doorway, with her arms crossed across her chest. Her expression isn't hostile, but neither is it happy. Her loose blonde hair has been pulled into a tight bun on her head, and I can see the eraser side of a pencil peeking out. She doesn't acknowledge me, but steps into the room, delicately sitting down on the purple comforter. Her pale skin is a contrast to the room, and her personality is a contrast to mine. She's fierce; I can see the heat in her eyes even though I'm not looking directly at her.

Esme turns me around gently, so that I'm facing Rosalie, and I look at her with wide eyes.

"Talk," Esme tells us; it's not a command, but it isn't a request either.

I rub the toe of my flats on my other shoe, my throat tight. I don't know what to even start the conversation with.

"How long have you been in Chicago?" Rosalie begins instead, her arms not moving an inch.

"Six months."

"What are you studying?"

"Art." I don't give her one word replies to be rude; there's just nothing that I can think of to add to my answers.

"Why?"

It's a startling question, and an intrusive one, and that's why she asked it. It's a question that makes me think; a question I cannot reply with one word. I open my mouth to give her an answer, but would do I say? Why do I study art? My mother? James? Do I even know it myself? No one has asked me that before, and I've never thought about it.

"It's always fascinated me."

"Oh?" Her tone is mocking, and I can feel my eyes narrow.

"Why did you road trip here? Why do you like traveling?" I ask her. Her brows come together, but she composes herself fast. Only now, I can see the worry lines etched onto her flawless face; underneath the makeup, there are two parallel dents just between her eyebrows that tell she's not always hostile. To me, they appear to be worry lines, and I suddenly want to ask her what she is worried about. But then my eyes take in the thin lines just around her mouth—frown lines. And with those, I no longer have any desire to ask.

I continue instead, not waiting a moment more for her to talk. "You want to see the sights, see the world, don't you?" The fact that they wanted to compose themselves on the trip before facing their family runs briefly through my mind, but I don't dwell on it. She's a contradiction to me—how can someone like her be with someone as sweet as Emmett?

"Sight-seeing," she tells me, but I can tell she's lying. There isn't a reason for her to; I wasn't expecting an answer.

"All done!" Esme announces, putting my braided hair on my left shoulder, so that the end tail of it tickles my arm. I look up at her, searching her face for her reaction to Rosalie's and my conversation, but she displays none. It's as if she hasn't heard us at all. She grabs the brush from my lap and walks to her dresser, putting things back in order.

I get up—stretching to bring back feeling into my legs and my back—as does Rosalie. She walks closer and closer until she's towering over me

"I don't know what you're up to, but I won't let you hurt my family."

I don't know where I muster the courage to mutter, "Don't you dare, Rosalie. You don't get to give me that speech."

The parting of her lips in a silent gasp and her widening eyes tell me that she's aware I know more than she'd thought. I turn to Esme, ending the conversation, with my heart thudding loudly in my chest.

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><p><strong>I know you must not be liking Rosalie, but I have plans for her and Carlisle! Keep in mind that this story is from Bella's POV; we're seeing and observing what she is and she could be wrong. :)<br>**

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	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The lovely SUNFLOWER3759 beta'd this chapter for me. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
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><p>I don't stay for dinner. While I may not have 'intruded' in the family lunch as much as I believed I did, dinner is a private affair. I'd learned that from Charlie when I would make dinner for the two of us and he would never show up until it was well past midnight. I would stay up and we'd eat dinner, and I would never cook late the next day because it had become a routine for us. It worked for us. We weren't a typical small town family; we would never be, and we'd accepted that. We never talked after the first initial, "How was your day?" questions, and didn't linger around long after we'd finished. It was a tradition. The only tradition I'd known after Mom died.<p>

Edward drives me home, while Esme stays to chat with Rosalie. She looks a little put out for not being able to go along with us, and that could be the reason for Rosalie's harsh goodbye to me. Edward and Emmett see her reaction, but they can do nothing more than send apologetic glances towards me. After waving to Esme, Edward gets me settled into his car—not through obligation, but because it's who he is.

"I've got to keep the engine going for a bit, or it'll heat up too much," he informs me. There is absolute silence except the soft purr of the Volvo, before he turns in his seat, his jade green orbs focusing on me. They're light right now—he's happy, and I wonder if it's possible to get over years of bitterness held inside so quickly. He looks at me for a few seconds, maybe minutes, before he averts his gaze, his hands pulling together. Last time I'd seen him do that was when he told me about Carlisle and Vanessa and the fire. Nervousness starts creeping up on me again.

"I'm sorry about Rosalie, Bella." He's still not looking at me, but his voice is small; it's small and strong and genuine.

I shrug, momentarily wondering how to reply. I don't know how to do this. Is it okay for her to treat me the way she did? It would depend on the answer as to why she talked to me the way she did. It hadn't been _what _she did, but _why_. "It's okay." But it isn't.

As if reading my mind, Edward replies, "She's just been stressed lately. She won't be like that next time."

_Next time. _

Do I have such a right in their household? My mind replies back to me, _No. _And I don't. I look down, fidgeting with my hands; I've never been in this position before. I've never mattered this much before.

I feel the tip of Edward's slightly chilly finger press under my chin, gently lifting my face up so that my eyes meet his. He's closer to me than before and I can't glance away from that soft look in his eyes. My heartbeat is picking up pace as that calm, lingering smell of his body wash or aftershave invades my senses.

"Please don't doubt yourself. Rosalie's never had Esme treat her that way; she's just been waiting for a day, and when she saw the way Esme was with you, she couldn't contain her reaction." His words barely register in my mind, and I even forget to tell him it was Carlisle's absence that caused Rosalie's response. His close proximity is affecting me, and I haven't decided if I like it or not. It's the feeling I'd read about in the romance books that were assigned in English classes, and while I know fairy tales aren't real, it's nice to know some feelings that provoke a warmth in the heart are. At the same time, it makes me lose the ability to think properly, and over-thinking has been a habit for me for over a decade now.

Edward's thumbs are now on the apple of my cheek, moving up and down so, so slowly. I can feel the heat creeping up my neck and my breathing getting shallow as he leans in a little more. Heart pounding, sweaty palms and blushing; this is what crushes are about, aren't they? Isn't this what romance books tell? A spark is all a relationship needs?

He's leaning in, little by little, and his eyes move from my lips to my eyes and then back again, while mines roam all over his face, tracing each little detail and each little scar that is scattered on his forehead. When his eyes lock on mine, I can't look away from them. They are so much darker than before; the look on his face…he's baring it all for me. He's showing his emotions just as they are, just as he feels them and I don't know if he's expecting the same from me. Or maybe he's looking for permission to kiss me. I blink once, and then again, and lean in just a little bit, because I don't know what else I can do. My hands lay limp on my lap, but he gets the hint. There's a small smile on his lips and he's so near that I can feel his warm breath wash over my face.

A loud tap startles us. We both jump and Edward lets out a yelp as his head roughly makes contact with the roof of his car. He glares at the back window and unlocks the doors, letting a large figure climb in.

"Hi, guys!" He's relaxed, with his arms spread out on the head rests of the back seats. He ignores Edward's look of anger and my blushing and tells his brother to get going, that he's missed Chicago. I look out the window and wonder if Emmett knows what he interrupted. It's really dark outside and with the street lights, I'm unable to see anything beyond the glass, but the window acts like a mirror.

I can't wait to get home and look in the mirror to see if the bright-eyed girl reflecting back on the window…is really me.

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading! <strong>

_I write between the lines. In order to understand why Bella does what she does, you have to get a feel of her character through her thoughts. For example, she's not being selfish by not telling Emmett about their acquaintance-it's just that she hasn't had _real _friends in her life; she doesn't have the mindset to think of others before herself at the moment. Hope this clears up the question many of you had! :)_

**Leave me a review?****  
><strong>


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The lovely SUNFLOWER3759 beta'd this chapter for me. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone. She's also great at calming me down; if it hadn't been for her, this chapter would've never been posted. Thank you, Fran. :)  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
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><p>They are the same white walls and white floors and it is the same nurse who attends to Alice each time I'm visiting her. It's comforting to know that some things remain the same, while thoughts of how different my life is becoming rage inside my head.<p>

Alice is lying on the bed; her short black hair is spread in a circle around her head, her blue eyes are open, and her lips have a slight gap between them. There's the same white, plastic chair beside her bed, and I fall into it. Her hands are clasped together on her stomach, and I grasp them in both of mine, scooting to the edge of the chair.

"Hi, Alice." I pause a beat for the response that I know won't come.

"How have you been?" I've never had to ask this question before. "You haven't texted me in awhile."

I stare at the hand I've tightened my grip on. The feeling of being here with Alice is so foreign, even though I've done this every month since I've been in Chicago. I've always found things to say to her, but my own mind is rattled. I know why I feel this way, but it doesn't make it any easier to say it out loud. Knowing and hearing it for confirmation are two very different things.

"I miss you," I whisper to her quietly. I can't find in it me to look into her eyes.

I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to balance things in my life and I've never had to do that before. School came easy to me; life didn't. All I did was pay attention in class and do my homework, and I'd passed classes with the highest score without trying. Same with me SATs; I'd answered the questions with ease and wrote the essay part with simple words. Simple doesn't always mean average; eloquence can lose substance within the content of the written work.

I've always known what to talk about mainly because Alice would text me throughout the month till I would come and meet her. This month has passed by so fast. I didn't even realize that I hadn't heard anything from her for a while. The guilt weighs heavily only chest. I'd have to learn how to balance having new friends in my life.

I try to fill her in with everything that has been going on. She's the only one I can talk to now.

"Do you remember Edward? My doctor…Esme's son. My friend." She lowers her voice at the last word; is 'friend' even the appropriate word to categorize Edward? She can't hide anything from Alice. "It's different with him. He doesn't ask me any questions. He doesn't mind that I don't talk much, or that I'm not telling him anything. He's curious, I know that much, but it's like he's letting me work out my thoughts. He almost kissed me last night, but we got interrupted. He's so cute, Alice. When he smiles, I can't help but smile back at him; he has this boyish grin that makes him look so innocent, yet so guilty of something—it's really endearing. He always gives me one of those whenever he sees me—I've started calling it _my _smile. Is that weird? I'm a little sad that his brother interrupted, but should I be thankful? I've never had a normal friendship before, so it's not like I'd be losing something if it doesn't work out, right?

"Esme invited me to dinner with her last week. I still think you two would get along really, really well. She'd be like the mother you never had, Alice. She wouldn't have put you here just because she couldn't handle your energetic persona." I don't like lying to her, but the truth would do no good right now to her state of mind or her self-esteem. "She's so sweet, and she loves her daughter more than anything. I wish I could bring her in to meet you. Maybe next time I will." I lean in closer to Alice, laying my head down on her arm, trying to will the tears forming in my eyes away. I sniffle, trying to get rid of the little sting signaling an emotional breakdown. I can only imagine how Esme would react to coming into such a place, and I don't know if I want to bring her here. I also hate seeing Alice like this, but there isn't much I can do against her parents' strict instructions.

I continue, hoping my voice doesn't sound heavy from the emotions. "Her other son came home just this week, too. It was an awkward meeting. It's Emmett. You talked to him on the phone once, remember? Such a coincidence, right?" My laugh sounds forced, and I know Alice can tell. "I haven't told him that I'm the same Bella he knows from the Internet. I don't think he's connected the dots yet—he hasn't said anything to me that would suggest he's suspicious." I bite my lower lip, before shaking my head. I've already given the Emmett-situation too much thought.

The nurse signals that my time is up by knocking lightly on the door; it means that the drugs Alice is given are wearing off slowly.

I squeeze her hand tightly before leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Text me, please," I whisper.

I gather my stuff and leave, not looking back. Leaving is hard to do every time when all I want to do is take her home with me. I want to remember her frame bouncing with happiness in my kitchen rather than the frozen statue she has been forced to become.

Now I just have to wait for her response.

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading! <strong>

_*Bites nails* We'll be seeing Alice at least once a month, and those are going to be the times when Bella's thoughts are laid out bare by herself, rather than us having to deduce from her cryptic ramblings. You guys remember her? Chapter 9 gives information on her. It's due to Alice's energetic nature that the doctors give her a neuromuscular-blocking drug when she has visitors. Hope this helps. :)  
><em>

**Leave me a review?****  
><strong>


	22. Chapter 22 Alice

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The absolutely wonderful SUNFLOWER3759 beta'd this chapter for me. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

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><p>Car horns blaring. Curse words flying. Shouting. Parents arguing. Tires screeching. Impact. Flying upward. Flying forward. Stomach crashing against the console between the seats. Searing pain. Leaking tears. A hand over my stomach.<p>

My eyes open with a snap as Lauren shakes my shoulder gently. The lights on the ceilings glare harshly, but I fight from closing my eyes. She silently wipes my forehead with the tissues from bedside table. She's sweet enough to not ask me about the nightmares; she never does anymore.

I like talking to Lauren, my nurse, and she is nice enough to listen to. She's the only one that is constant—only one that doesn't leave me.

She's in here again; she tells me she doesn't like being in other rooms, and I can understand her pain. If I look out in the hallway, I can see puke all over the window of the door across from mine. So many horrible things happen inside the walls of this place. She slips into the chair that's always there beside my bed. I wordlessly turn my back to her, so that I'm looking at the white door of the bathroom. Her fingers are gentle as she runs them through my hair, and I wonder if she's a mother. She would be a good mother. I wonder if she can teach me anything about being a mother.

"Your friend was here yesterday."

She's talking about Bella, but I already know. I heard her. I saw her. I _felt _her. Just before she left me, too.

Bella's become different. She never liked touching people before, unless it was necessary or to be polite, yet she willingly kept a close connection between our hands yesterday. Does that mean she cares? Or was it her way of saying goodbye? And she doesn't train her eyes on the floor when she walks now, either. She had never cried in front of me before yesterday. She had trained herself long ago to close up when her emotions took a tumble, but now it seems as though she is breaking. She's breaking apart, coming alive, from the _inside. _

It's because of _Edward._ Bella's only started changing…evolving, since _he_ became a part of her life, along with his family. Will they take away the only source of family _I _have? That I ever will.

My hand goes to my stomach, and I can't help the feeling of abandonment creep up on me again.

_No, _I scold myself. Bella would never do that to me. She needs me just as much as I need her. Isn't that why she kept my room just the way I left it?

My heart beats speed up as I remember my room; the scattered toys and stuffed animals all over the bed and the wood for the crib. If the crib isn't built on time, where will my baby sleep? My chest tightens and my breathing deepens, and I dig my nails into my stomach. That's not reality. This is my reality. Pain is my reality.

They _all_ leave.

No, Bella wouldn't leave. She wouldn't.

"She wanted you to text her," Lauren informs me.

I know that, too. But I can't, not yet. Fractured sentences are running through my mind. Bella's still drawing…. She'd nearly stopped before my parents found me again. I'd been so close to fixing her. She wants to draw this boy…Edward. Nothing good can come out of the grief and bitterness that's manifested into a hobby for Bella. But I can't text her. She'd have questions, questions that I can't answer. Or she might not understand me and she'd end up leaving me all alone in this pasty white hospital, with no chance of ever having someone to call my own.

"Lauren, can you give a letter to her when she comes next time?" I ask my nurse in a soft voice.

"Of course." She pries my hand away from my bruised stomach. "It's time to a nap."

I don't fight anymore. I've learned the hard way that if I don't do as they say, they'll only sedate me. They'll do anything to keep my routine _normal_.

Lauren turns the light off on her way out, shutting the door with a soft click.

_Normal_. I'm not normal. I'm sane, but not normal. There's a big difference. They think I believe I'm still pregnant, but I don't. I know I lost my baby in that car crash. But pretending to be pregnant, pretending there's someone…someone that I can call my own, someone that won't leave me is less harsh than knowing that I'm all alone. My parents disowned me when they found out I was pregnant, but they totally abandoned me when they left me here in this hospital.

But I still have Bella. She visits me, and she's still hoping I come back to live with her…yet at the end of the day, she leaves me, too. She doesn't wait for me to respond to her. But I will…in my letter, I will.

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><p><strong>Sorry about the no update last weekend. :( I'd like to thank Fran for pimping this fic out as well as Lola84 for recc'ing it on her blog.<br>**

_So, lots of little bits from Alice; more to come in the letter~ :) I know so many lives are being entwined, but I have plans for them aaaallll! __  
><em>

**Thank you to those who have been with me from the start and welcome to the new readers! ****Leave me a review? I love hearing from you... ****  
><strong>


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The absolutely wonderful SUNFLOWER3759 beta'd this chapter for me. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

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><p>Saturdays are my cleaning days. I don't have any classes and most of my assignments are usually finished. It's also the one time I open Alice's door. I don't want her to feel as if I'd moved anything when she comes back. It's the only thing I can do for her.<p>

I try to keep from glancing at my phone; I've done it too many times today. Alice has yet to text back; she usually does so after a few hours of me leaving.

After checking on the cheese lasagna, I head down the hall to my room. The sunlight is streaming in through my open window, and the drawings on the wall look normal, unlike how eerily realistic they seem at night. The drawings are a reminder of my mother—the only connection I have to her, and she is the last person I want to think about right now. I avoid looking at them at all costs as I take the key from my night table and make my way to the second bedroom. There are only two bedrooms on this floor.

I grab the vacuum and open Alice's door, leaving the key in the knob. It's hard to step into her room; it reminds me of the time she's spent here. There are a few dust bunnies noticeable on the mahogany wooden floor, but otherwise it's just as it always is. I clean over the dresser and the night table, and then vacuum the floor.

The room smells like mud and wood; that damp smell after the rain pelts a cement floor. There are small teddy bears and stuffed puppies scattered on the pillows of the bed, all with personal little stitching that Alice did with sweet quotes about life.

My cell phone beeps from downstairs. _Finally. _By the time I reach it, I'm slightly out of breath, and my disappointment skyrockets as I see a number I don't recognize.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Bella."

I gape for two seconds as I recognize the voice at the other end of the line. _"Edward?"_

"Yeah, is it bad time to call?" There's this softness in his voice that makes my chest tighten a bit.

"No, no," I stutter out. "How…are you?" I'm praying that the uncertainty in my voice isn't as clear to him as it is to me.

He doesn't take long to reply. "I'm good, just on my lunch break. I hope you don't mind that I got your number from Esme. I was just, uh, wondering if maybe you'd like to join me for lunch?" I marvel at how the roles have switched and suddenly he's the one who's hesitant.

My eyes glance at the oven, the lasagna nearly done.

He takes the silence as a negative. "You don't have to," he starts. "I was just…never mind, it's okay."

"Edward." I wait until he's listening to continue, "I've already made lunch…enough for two people. Do you want to come over?"

A few seconds of wait.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'd like the company," I respond softly. Last time we'd gone to lunch, it had been for my selfish motives. I had the need to pick through his thoughts and delve into his past. I want this time to be different; just two friends enjoying some time together.

Friends. It's a weird concept, and I'm sure it'll take me some time to fully grasp it.

"I'll see you in a few."

"Bye." Even though he's hung up, I keep the phone held to my ear. I have these odd feelings of both anxiousness and excitement seeping through me that makes me hurry to set the placemats on the curved "L" ground table in my kitchen. I find myself rushing to clean up the living room. I leave the lasagna in the oven to remain hot as I hurry to change into something decent. I've never been this self-conscious before; I've never felt the need to impress someone before. I'm not sure I like this feeling.

Just as I'm shutting my bedroom door, the bell rings. I take a few deep breaths and open the front door.

He's smiling _my_ smile, and I can't even remember that anxious feeling anymore. His lab coat is on his arm. He's got a little bit of stubble growing on his jaw and it stands out against his pale skin and white button down. There are bags under his eyes, most likely from the lack of a good night's sleep.

The grin on his face widens and I can feel burning in my cheeks as I remember to invite him in.

"Thanks."

I shrug in good humor; there isn't anything else to say. He's only ever been in my living room before, so I trail nervously to the kitchen, not sure if I should seat him in the living room first. When Alice had lived with me, it felt normal, as if she'd been with me her whole life.

"I made five cheese lasagna," I tell him, wriggling my hands together.

He sits on one of the high stools, his long legs making it easy for him.

"Are you heading back to work afterwards?"

"No, I'm finally done with my shift," he groans out, rubbing his hands over his face. While I'm sure he wouldn't need any help getting to sleep, I open the only wine bottle this house has, and pour it into two glass cups, hoping it would relax him a bit.

I jump onto the chair, not realizing how close his seat is to mine, and let my feet dangle. His knee touches mine for a moment so brief, I wonder if I've just imagined. Any nervousness disappears when he deliberately moves his leg so that it's touching mine…and doesn't remove it.

Yup, all nervousness is gone.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Leave me your thoughts? I love hearing them.<strong>**  
><strong>


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The lovely SUNFLOWER3759 beta'd this chapter for me. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

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><p>The light has already begun to dull; it's a little past five, but angry clouds have covered the light blue that was present earlier. Although my patio is small, it's furnished with small comfortable chaise longue chairs, with a little fire table between.<p>

It's chilly, but the wine has warmed us up really well. There are tiny flickering flames rising from the fire that are leaving shadows of light on Edward's face.

"Cancún."

He hums in the back of his throat, before his eyes light up. "Oh!" He leans towards me, excitement washing over his face. "I went there with my friends at the end of high school, sort of like the last blast. Every night of that week, we sat at the beach and tried to build a bonfire. The hotel provided us with amazing firewood; it was salted from the ocean water so when we lit it on fire—mind you, it took a lot of tries—the flames were blue. There were no orange hues or red; it was just completely blue."

"I've wanted to go since Alice told me about it."

"Alice?" he questions me. It's only then do I realize I keep forgetting that he doesn't know everything…that I haven't told him everything. It's easy to forget about everything else around me when I'm talking to him. It's those little moments that I don't have to worry about anyone or anything else, where I can just say whatever comes to mind rather than having to over-think these things.

"She's a very good friend," I reply.

Maybe he doesn't want to intrude or he can tell it's a subject that I'm not quite ready to discuss yet. "Why haven't you gone, then?" he asks me instead.

I open my mouth to reply, but my mind is coming up blank with excuses. Why haven't I gone? I've had breaks during school months and free summers, yet not once have I visited any of the places I've been wanting to.

I shrug. "I guess I just didn't want to go alone."

His expression mollifies. In an effort to change the conversation, he questions me about Chicago.

"I haven't been outside of the Loop," I confess. "I don't have a car…"

He gapes mockingly at me. "How can you _not _have a car?"

"Well, everything is close by. School, grocery stores, the Metra. It isn't a necessity for me," I defend lightly.

"That's not all a car is good for," he responds without waiting a beat. I blink up at him, remembering the times I'd spent in his car, the time we'd almost...

His eyes widen a bit, giving him the look of complete innocence. The dark green orbs reflecting the light of the flames back at me leave me surprised. The gap between us is just a few inches, and with the top few buttons of his shirt unbuttoned and the way his eyes are looking at me makes my chest tighten, it all takes my breath away.

He murmurs something about showing me the city, but the smell of wine and _Edward _from his lips surrounds me in a cage, and I can do nothing except nod my head. The slight breeze dances around my hair, and his hand reaches up to push the few escaped strands behind my ear. I bite my lower lip to keep the whimper in when his skin meeting mine leaves a trail of heat across my cheek.

He doesn't move his hand away from me; he curls his fingers around the nape of my neck, his thumb moving up and down slowly behind my ear. There's slight pressure from his hand and I realize that I've frozen in place. He's not asking permission this time, and he doesn't have to; I'm sure my eyes are reflecting back the same as his are to me.

The closer we inch, more heat spreads through my torso, and I'm struck with the thought of this being completely new to me. There's a flow of electricity and desire and need and I'm not afraid. My mind is telling me to stop, to figure out my feelings before I do anything, yet there's a part of me that just wants to let go of everything in the world around me and surrender to this exciting, heart pounding moment.

He closes his eyes, grazing his lips softly against mine at first, just a slight touch, before kissing the corners of my lips. I let my eyes fall shut as his lips part to grab my bottom lip between his teeth gently, and I can stop neither the moan that slips out, nor from pulling him yet closer as my arms wind around his neck. There's nothing that I am aware of at this moment except the smell of Edward's body wash and the feel of his body pressing closer to mine with every little peck he delivers.

Something shifts almost as suddenly as the kiss was initiated. There's urgency in both our movements, as if the time is getting away from us and we're trying to hold onto this one second, or this one minute. He's pushing and pulling, and I'm pressing against him and then leaning back, pulling him over myself. The couch is a little small but he tries to make up for it by leaving one hand tangled in my hair and the other on the ground below.

Two things break up the moment and leave us dazed and confused. He lets out a yelp as the hotplate on the fire table touches his skin just above the elbow and my phone lets out a loud ding.

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><p><strong>Sorry about the delay, guys. Thanks for reading! Leave me your thoughts? I love hearing them.<strong>**  
><strong>


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The gracious SUNFLOWER3759 beta'd this chapter for me. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

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><p>He's still above me, and I'm painfully aware of the knee that's wedged in between my legs, not quite touching, but close enough so that I can feel the heat of his skin through his dress pants. All I can hear is blood rushing through my ears and Edward's haggard breathing.<p>

We're still sharing breaths and his hand in my hair slowly untangles, as my own hands slide down from his neck towards the open buttons on his shirt. I play around with them a bit, enjoying the view of the pale skin peeking at me, but not knowing what to do, either.

I look up at him through my eyelashes, shyness coming over me. The moment's broken. The heat disappears just as suddenly as it had come. He's looking at me and a slow, small smile spreads across his lips. And that's all it takes for the tension to leave, and we're back to being just Edward and Bella. It's as if nothing's changed between us, yet everything has.

My phone rings again; it breaks us out of our stupor and he lifts off of me, hissing a the burn on his bicep. It's uncomfortable and our limbs are bumping into each other, and after the third try, he finally sits ups. His shirt is burned a bit, and I know the skin underneath must hurt. He adjusts his pants as I try not to blush at realizing just why needs to do so. I brush my hair off of my face, taking the rubber band off.

Edward clears his throat, his voice horse, "Bathroom? Would you mind if I go use the bathroom?"

"No, no," I stutter out. "It's upstairs, at the end of the hallway."

He gives my hand a squeeze before going back inside. I take a couple of minutes to get my breathing back under control. I want to laugh and squeal and that's not me. I want to scream out and hear my voice echoing back to me against the water of the lake behind my house. I want to talk to Alice about this. My phone rings for the third time this night, and I head back inside to grab it on wobbly feet.

I catch a glimpse of my face on the mirror on the kitchen wall, and I have to do a double take. I've never cared about my appearance before, yet today, I'd dressed up in the only v-necked shirt I had and some tighter-than-usual jeans. My eyes are shining, my cheeks are pinkish and my lips are slightly swollen red. It's hard to believe it's because of another person in my life. I've always prided myself in being independent, but maybe, just maybe…having someone in my life can be good.

I can't stop the grin from spreading on my face before I head over to grab my phone.

_3 Missed Calls_

_Emmett 6:35_

_Emmett 6:40_

_Emmett: 6:42_

He's never called me more than once before. A frown makes its way to my face as I call him back, my eyes trained on the stairs. The last thing I want is for Edward to walk down on my conversation with his _brother _and have to explain that situation.

_"Hello?"_

"Hi, Em." The thought that he'll recognize my voice and put two and two together don't come to my mind at the moment.

_"Hi, Bells. Are you busy?" _

Emmett knows me, so he wouldn't think there's someone else in the house besides me. If I tell him that I _am_ busy, he'll think I'm avoiding him. "No," I respond in a shaky voice.

_"Good. It's been awhile since we've talked."_ His voice is cheery, and it's a bit of a relief.

"Yeah, yeah it has been. How are you?"

_"I'm great. It's taking time to settle back into this life." _

"Oh?" My curiosity is spiked.

_"Yeah."_ He lets out a breath, staying silent, and my eyes don't stray from the stairs. What's taking Edward so long? How do I hang up on Emmett? _"I'm so used to living with just Rosalie. I walked out naked for breakfast and nearly gave my mother a heart attack."_

I snicker. I'd grown up with his perverted talks and off-handed comments. They no longer make me blush, but only serve to amuse me.

_"Listen, I wanted to talk to you…" _I can feel the nerves starting to creep up on me again.

"Yeah?"

Edward still hasn't returned. Do I want to let my mind stray to what's taking him so long? I opt not to; I'm not sure how much more I can handle at the moment. I probably shouldn't be talking to Emmett right now; as much as he's my best friend, I want to spend the night without thinking of the mess I've made of things by not telling him the truth.

_"How've you been?"_ This is Emmett, this is the boy I met all those years ago. He doesn't have to add anything to a simple sentence, yet he can make it sound as if it's the most important question in our life.

"I'm good, Em." And I'm not lying. These feelings are a far cry from what I've experienced with Alec at Yale, but they're pleasant; they're new, unfamiliar.

_"Wrong timing, is it?"_ His hurt tone is nearly stabbing at my heart. I used to cherish these moments spent talking to him. I can't exactly explain to him that I have his brother over at my house, who is currently in my bathroom after I kissed hi—

"Emmett, can I call you back later?" I don't wait for his respond as I drop my phone carelessly on the kitchen table, my bare feet pounding on the wooden floor as I fly up the stairs. There's no sound of water from the bathroom, nor any movement upstairs, and the house isn't steady enough to handle someone walking without squeaking just a bit.

My thoughts are confirmed as I reach Alice's door, with the key still in the knob and I'm afraid to peek in, but I still do so. He's standing by the bed, a little teddy bear in hand, shoulders tense. One of his fingers is trailing over the stitched quote. The wood creaks underneath my feet, but he doesn't turn. He doesn't respond as my slightly shaky hand touches his shoulder, and that's when I know he's jumped to conclusions.

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><p><strong>A HUGE thanks to ever amazing 'theonlykyla' for recc'ing this story out in her latest chapter, and to the amazing 'A Different Forest' members who recc'd this out-I'm sorry, I never got to find out your names, but a few reviewers told me there were different people! So thank you all so much! <strong>_  
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_Updates will be on Sundays rather than Saturdays. My schedule is changing around at work. and I have 3 classes this quarter. Sorry about the inconvenience. :(_**  
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><strong>


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The gracious SUNFLOWER3759 beta'd this chapter for me. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>I've never known what physical comfort should feel like. James never touched me after the night of my mother's death. And Charlie, he's a man of few words. Unfortunately, I took after him, so there wasn't a lot of communication between us. Alice spent her time trying to cheer me up after learning about my mother to make me forget, rather than come to terms with her death. Emmett was the only one to ever comfort me, but that's always been through long distance verbal communication<p>

So right now, this comfort I am feeling from Edward's arm wrapped around my shoulder, while we sit on Alice's bed is entirely foreign, but not entirely unwelcome. And since I have no experience on how to clear a misunderstanding, I can't be more thankful that Edward was willing to listen to me without truly believing what his eyes told him. When I found him in Alice's room, I knew I had to at least try to make it right…to make him understand this part of my life.

He knows everything now. Is it trust? It feels like it. it feels good, peaceful. I don't have that heavy weight on my chest like I had when I told Emmett…but maybe that was because I didn't know if my friend would judge me. Do I trust Edward enough to know that he won't think anything bad of me? Probably. There was a brief pause in my thought as the feeling of envy passes through me; Edward had told me of his responsible hand in the incident with Vanessa without hesitation. He'd gotten past that barrier in his mind of guilt. I wish I could get over this feeling of hopelessness, but wishing never does anything.

Now there's nothing left for me to tell him of Alice. He knows that I met her while she was hungry and tired and bruised. He knows that I brought her here and she lived with me until her parents found her again. He knows that Alice gave me stability for the short amount of months I had with her, stability tha ti needed while growing up but never received. He knows I loved her like the younger sister I never had, but desperately needed. He knows about her mental state; there isn't a reason for me not to tell him. She's a part of my life that I can share with him without betraying her trust. It finally feels as if we're on the same level; that I've shared with him in the same manner he had previously shared with me. If he can give me the information about his family, then I have no problems with telling him my secrets.

"She had stopped mentioning her pregnancy for awhile," I whisper out, moving off of the bed and away from Edward. "She stopped giving any indication that she was about to have a baby until her parents found her again."

"How did they?"

"Cell phone tracking. She'd run away from home."

I'm hoping he doesn't ask the reason why about Alice's actions, and he doesn't. Maybe he understands. Maybe he can relate to having a hard past and not wanting to give any answers.

He stands up, leaning on the wall opposite from the bed, crossing his arms over his chest, leaving his shirt to stretch and cling to his skin.

"Do you visit her?"

"Every month, faithfully. There is only one visitation right allowed per month." I try to push away the guilt of not doing more for Alice. I try to tell myself it isn't my fault, but it's hard.

I can feel Edward's eyes on me as I avoid looking at him, my finger tracking the small stitches around the bed's comforter. It's a nice feeling of talking and having someone respond back. Texting is easier, when there isn't someone else to judge me, as is interaction with Alice because I know she won't judge me…nor can she until I'm gone, and then, I don't have to look into her eyes.

With Edward, his response is soft, thought out in consideration so that I can't misunderstand his words.

His fingers ghost over the length of my arm, asking me to turn to him. When I do, I'm left unarmed, as the softness in his eyes melts me, leaving me a bit more confident.

"I'm sure she appreciates you very much," he tells me in a low voice. I don't deny it, because I don't know if I can; that is Alice's opinion alone.

I smile in turn. "She's worth it."

There's a spark of something else in his eyes as my words fill his mind. It's not something I can put my finger on. His lips are tugging downwards and he's looking a little lost. I inch a bit closer to him, hoping to bring back that moment where I wasn't myself…where I was the person I'd always wanted to be, someone free. My attempt is horrible as my hand touches the skin just above his elbow, the area where he burned it earlier.

"Sorry!" I squeak out. Too many hindrances…

I suddenly realize that he didn't have time to get some cold water on his burn. I lead him downstairs to the kitchen sink, letting the cool water run over his arm for a few minutes before wrapping it in a sterile gauze roll bandage. He admires my messy work, pretending to be critical.

"It'll do," he states with a sigh when I glare at him playfully.

"It's done by an artist, so it's art. You're not qualified to judge," I tease back, the situation a little more light than it was upstairs.

He places a hand over his heart, pretending to gap at me. "I'm wounded, Miss Swan. I'm the one who gave my mother drawing lessons!"

I eye him suspiciously. When the grin breaks free on his face, I know he's just pulling my leg.

He yawns and looks at his watch, his eyes widening comically as he notices the time. "I should go," he mutters. A frown comes over his face, and I don't want him to leave either. My house has never felt warmer with company before, but I know it's been a long few days for him and he needs his rest.

"You could come back any time for lunch," I promise him, as we both walk slowly towards the door, his car keys in his hand.

Just as I'm about to turn the knob, his hand grips the crook of my elbow, the previous playfulness gone from his expression. "Thank you, Bella." I can tell this thanks isn't just for the food…it's for more.

I lay my hand on top of his. "I was just returning the favor." I try to smile at him, but his eyes darken slightly, a nonchalant mask coming over his face, leaving me confused.

He breaks our connection, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. What changed? "So…goodnight." He steps a bit closer, as if to hug me, but thinks better of it, waving at me as he walks out.

I wait until he's in his car, pulling away from the curb before closing the door and leaning against it. I'd done something wrong, or said something wrong. His abrupt change in behavior could be because of me. I wish he'd hugged me as a goodbye, because the farewell seemed too distant, since less than a few hours before things had been so different between us.

The knock on the door startles me, and in hopes that it's Edward, I open it fast, my heart beating wildly.

"Hi, Bells."

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><p><em>Sorry about the late update; my gmail account wouldn't let me open my beta'd doc.<strong><br>**_

**Thanks for reading. Leave me your thoughts? I love reading them.****  
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><strong>


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The gracious SUNFLOWER3759 beta'd this chapter for me. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
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* * *

><p>I pour the coffee into a cup; he looks like he really needs it. There aren't any physical signs that prove he's been tired, only his eyes are closing and it could be because it's late at night—the hour of the night is what has me wondering why he's here.<p>

I don't feel anything. He's found out about me and now he's here to confront me, yet I'm numb. Shouldn't I be feeling worried of what he'll think of me? After Edward left so abruptly, I'm convinced that I've done something wrong. Emmett, being his brother, I'm sure would support Edward's side. There's nothing more for me to lose.

"You look like hell," I state, putting his black coffee in front of him on the kitchen table. He's sitting in the head chair of the dining table, and I take a seat next to him, crossing my arms over my chest as goosebumps rise on my arms due to Chicago's chilly winter weather.

"I feel like hell," he strangles out in a humorless chuckle.

Rather than stalling any longer, I ask him, "When did you figure it out?"

"When you sent that text."

My facial expression must've given me away, because he brings out his phone, pressing a few buttons before he shows the screen to me, displaying my very own text message from the last month.

"_When are you moving here?"_

_Here. _I'd written _here. _I can feel the heat creeping up my neck to my cheeks.

"You told me." There's a playful tone to his voice, but his eyes are still a bit droopy.

"What are you doing here so late?" I trail off, not knowing how to word my thoughts without sounding completely rude.

"I…you hung up on me so abruptly…I thought you couldn't keep up with the whole façade. I mean, I knew that you knew who I was, but you'd never shut me out like that." He gives me a sheepish shrug. "I got a bit worried. You're my best friend, you know?"

I'm touched that he thinks of me as such, and the fact that he rushed over, however, the emotional overload isn't helping the slight throbbing that's making its way to my temples. Today's been too much…way too much.

"Sorry. I had," I pause, gathering my thoughts, "company."

"Yeah, I saw." One corner of his lips lifts up a little, and I can see the similarities between Edward and him. While Edward's hair is long and messy, Emmett's is curly and short. They have the same pale skin, and while Emmett is muscular, Edward is leaner. Their personalities are different too, except for tonight. The way Emmett is awkwardly brushing the rim of his cup with his finger reminds me of the way Edward awkwardly rubs the back of his neck.

I twiddle my thumbs together, fighting to find something to say. It's unnerving, this meeting in real life. Conversations over the phone didn't need to be censored, because they were mostly mindless, but this face-to-face communication is unfamiliar territory as far as Emmett is concerned. I can't avoid his eyes because then he'll think I'm lying; if I tell him to leave or make a sorry excuse such as I'm tired, he'll think I'm avoiding him. I have to be careful to keep my face blank, as well.

"Listen," he starts, "I know you weren't expecting me here, and to be honest, I wasn't planning on this, except I figured, how long can we put it off? I'm sure it was making you just as anxious as me. I've wanted to meet my best friend for a long time, you know?"

My eyes snap up to his. His tired orbs stare at mine with a softness that I'm not anticipating, and it leaves me a little warmer from the inside out.

"Why didn't you bring it up before?" Curiosity is the only thing that prompts this question from me.

"Would you have wanted to meet me?"

Would I? "I don't know," I tell him honestly. "I've never thought of that until I clicked together that you were Edward's brother. …Did you?"

"Yes." It's a quiet answer, one that has a lot more feeling and hidden meaning behind it, however, I try not to think of what it's implying. I grab his empty cup instead, walking towards the sink.

"So, Edward?" The cup falls out of my hand and clatters loudly against the steel. I mentally chastise myself, and pick it up again, examining the glass. There's a piece chipped off from the rim, so I throw it away, rinsing my hand, avoiding Emmett's eyes.

He comes to stand next to me, crossing his arms over his chest, almost in a playful manner. "Come on, Bells. You can tell me."

I wrinkle my nose at the thought. I couldn't imagine a more awkward topic to talk about.

"So, Rosalie," I retort in turn, trying to keep his brother out of our conversation.

He narrows his eyes at me briefly, letting me know he doesn't approve of this segue. "Yeah." He finally laughs sheepishly. "Rosalie. I've never told her about you, you know."

I'm wondering if I should be feeling insulted, but I know him; he's got to have a reason.

"For a very long time, I just wanted to keep you to myself. And when I was ready, I couldn't. She's really insecure. She wouldn't have been able to handle it without thinking some obscene thing. That's the reason why she was jealous of you—Edward told me," he explains. "She just wants my parents to accept her, and while they do, it seems as if the attention Mom has been giving you pushes her back, I guess. Mom's never been like that with her. Rose tried to become the daughter that Mom's lost…the daughter she always wanted, but it never seemed enough. And then she sees you in my parents' room, with Mom treating you as if you were her own, that kind of agitated her."

"I shouldn't have been there," I murmur softly. Rosalie is a part of their family, I'm not.

He bumps his shoulder to mine lightly. "I've never known you to be insecure, Bella Swan. Stop over thinking it. You were there because we wanted you to be."

"Isn't she wondering where you are at this hour?"

"No. I had to get out… She likes to stay and help, but I," he halts his words, as if the words won't physically sound from his throat. He doesn't need to say more; I can deduce that something is going on with Esme tonight, and it must be hard for him to see her in pain.

We're quiet. I'm still trying to come to terms with what's happened this evening, from Edward's behavior to Emmett appearing on my doorstep, and the information about Rosalie. It's just a difference of perspectives; she only wanted to complete the family that Esme wanted…and I shouldn't come between that.

But then he moves one of his hands to grab one of mine, prompting me to look into his eyes. It's then that I know we'd be fine, that we would be able to get through this awkward phase. It's the first time in the night that I allow myself to admit that I need him. I've gotten too accustomed my friend, and I know him too well to know he wouldn't just throw me away.

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><p><strong>'Kay, so I really don't know when I'll be updating, and I'm really sorry for that. :( I wish I could give you guys a solid schedule, but...<strong>**  
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_Thanks for reading. Leave me your thoughts? I love reading them._**  
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><strong>


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The amazing SUNFLOWER3759 beta'd this chapter for me. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>The room is filled with sounds of soft pencil strokes across the linen cover, leaving behind smudged black lines. My eyes find Esme's serene face across from mine, and I can't imagine a better class partner. She has rainbow colors, black and white, and gray spots that need a place within her face portrait.<p>

It's almost the beginning of November and half way into the semester. Our project is due, and while the majority of the outlines are done, we'd made plans to work on it all day yesterday and today. My kitchen is a mess from all the ragged sheets covering the floors and the chairs around us. The only thing visible other than art equipment is my phone. I'm well over nervousness, and have moved into full blown anxiety as Alice hasn't texted me at all. But surprisingly, what I'm more worried about is the fact that neither has Edward. I shouldn't be expecting it, but it would be nice to receive some type of response after the kiss. I'm left with nothing but self doubt.

"Can I see?" Esme asks excitedly, peeking around the three foot canvas she has on the Utrecht folding table.

"But we agreed yesterday to wait until Thursday."

"But," she says with a pout, "I want to see it."

I laugh. She reminds me of a child who has been denied candy. "I'm not done yet, but we'll see."

We work in silence for a few minutes. She's using paint to color, and even though I don't want it to happen, the smell reminds me of my childhood. The little pinches I feel in my chest are soft, but they still hurt. I can't help but compare the way she works to the way Renee used to. Esme stays seated, her left hand holding the palette and her right hand moving in slow strokes rather than the entirely smooth ones.

I break out of my stupor as I pick up an orange color pencil, shading it in just around the hairline. I'm trying for the portrait to look realistic, without going too far off of the assignment. Aro wants us to use color to depict the personality of our partner, but I'm sure I would be able to keep Esme's portrait constant.

I leave the orange outline to smudge into a lighter orange before it fades into the lightest color it can. There are dark parts in Esme's life that cannot be forgotten, but at the same time, she's smiling, regardless of the fact that she believes in a reality that only exists in her mind.

I start with the red color pencil next. Instead of using the tissue paper over the original outline, I go straight onto the actual canvas cover—the initial picture is always the most honest. Soft shades of red to blend in the orange and darker shades for the passion for life trapped inside of her.

I'm lost in all the colors as I struggle to find the right balance between each use. By the time I get to coloring Esme's facial features in, I'm using shallow strokes, so that there is rough texture mixed in with the plain, single, smooth strokes.

We're barely aware of when the late morning turns to early evening until both of our stomachs growl. I'm able to cover my piece, but the paint on Esme's canvas has yet to dry. I'm tempted to peek, but I decide against it. It would be quite the surprise to see on the morning it's due.

"Emmett told me Edward was here?" Esme asks, a grin forming on her reluctant lips.

"Yeah, he came by for lunch a few days ago." I keep the information limited as possible; I'm afraid of the questions she may ask, the questions that I don't even know the answer to. Edward hasn't texted me, nor has he come by to drop off Esme. It had been Emmett both times.

"How're you two getting along?"

I shrug, putting a glass of water in front of her. There's nothing to say…nothing to explain. I don't even understand why I want him to text me, and I especially don't understand why I'm feeling sad at the fact that he didn't. He doesn't have any obligation to me.

"How is Emmett?" I change the direction of the conversation, sitting down next to her. I'd cooked pork chops the morning before she came over, so all I needed to use was the microwave. Better safe than sorry.

"Oh, he's great! I still can't believe you two knew each other from before. And this pork chop is really good," she exclaims between bites.

"Thanks. It's my dad's recipe." Speaking of Charlie, I should call him soon. He doesn't say much, but I know he's happy to hear from me every time I call.

"It came as a shock for me too. I had a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that you two knew each other before. Quite the coincidence." Esme's not motherly; she's more like a friend despite the age difference. It's easier to tell her things than admit them to myself.

"He was talking about finally telling Rosalie," she comments.

My eyes snap up to hers. "But why?"

Esme frowns, picking her fork at the sautéed asparagus. "I think he just doesn't want to keep it a secret anymore. Or maybe he just wants to introduce you as his friend rather than mine. He can be very competitive."

Maybe his decision to tell would be for the best, but from what Emmett told of Rosalie last time he was here, I'm not sure I want to be there when she finds out.

She helps me clear the dishes, chatting about how she wants her canvas to come out as a final product, leaving my imagination to run on a sugar rush, on just how she's interpreted me.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm donating Chapter 1 of a few fic to StandUp4Katalina. There are many wonderful authors participating in this event, so please consider donating even $5 to get compilations early!<br>**

**Here's the summary: **Bella has recurring dreams of a life that her husband vehemently denies. When the secrets unravel, her life takes a turn for the worse as she's thrust into Death's welcoming arms.

_Thanks for reading. Leave me your thoughts? I love reading them._**  
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	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The amazing SUNFLOWER3759 beta'd this chapter for me. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
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><p>"No."<p>

"Please?"

"But…"

"Please?" Emmett draws the word out this time, batting his eyelashes at me. His comical pleading makes my lips twitch, but I'm still not sure I want to be there when Rosalie finds out. He's inviting me over for the evening, as a way to apologize for the last time. He's trying to get me to see that Rosalie is nice…. I'm still doubtful.

He's been coming over for the last three days, sometimes to just keep me company, and other times to tell me about his work with the gym. He'd avoided talking about Rosalie, and I think I know why now. He's either been stalling or just waiting for the last minute.

He sees the hesitation on my face, and seizes the opportunity, pulling me off of my couch and pushing me lightly towards the stairs. And just to annoy him, I take extra time in the shower. I don't know whether it's the fact that I don't want to get him mad at me that compels me to go with him, or maybe it's because there's a part of me that's hoping that Edward will be there and I finally get an explanation.

It doesn't surprise me that I don't care he's sitting somewhere around my house; there's this deep feeling of trust with him. I'm not surprised at the fact that Edward didn't come, either; his stubbornness about staying away is pretty clear to me as the days went by and he didn't initiate any contact. It's probably my fault…I must've done something that made him pull away. What does surprise me is the hurt I'm feeling; I have no reason to be this way. At least that's what I try to convince myself of.

I finish washing and dry myself before wrapping the damp towel around body. I peak my head out of the door, my eyes scanning through my room to see if Emmett's still here. He isn't. I head towards my closet, mentally trying to decide just what type of dress code would be appropriate. I don't care much about my appearance, but I know Rosalie will. I don't want to give her a reason to judge me.

Simple, royal blue blouse with denim jacket, and jeans. A safe choice.

It has been six months since Alice cut my bangs, and they have yet to grow so they don't stay in my ponytail. I pull them back instead, keeping them in place with hair pins, leaving a little puff on top of my head. I wrap my bandana to hide the pins, letting the little knot stay on the top, right hand side.

Emmett pops his head in, giving me a glance up and down before he whistles in approval. "Edward won't know what hit him."

"If he cares," I mutter, not knowing how else to respond. I look helplessly at Alice's collection of eyelashes before deciding against them; I'd only to manage to make myself look like a clown.

Emmett's brows furrow in confusion. "Did something happen?"

"No." I follow him down to the front entrance. I lock the door, slipping the single key into my pocket.

He opens the passenger door for me, not even laughing when it takes me two tries to gain a steady step up into his large jeep. It doesn't take long to arrive at his house while I'm trying to push away my nerves.

The house doesn't look inviting today. The second floor windows are all dark, and I don't like the way the beige color of the house looks as if it's towering over me, leaning over to swallow me whole. _Stupid nerves._

I rub my slightly sweaty palms against the outside of my thighs, trying to concentrate on walking to the front door. There's no Esme to greet me today.

Emmett opens their unlocked front door, motioning me to go first. My sneakers squeak against the marble floor. The staircase looks menacing, darkness descending from the top floor down to where I'm standing. I feel like a lost kid, as if this place is completely foreign to me, as if I've never been here before. …And I haven't been here before. This isn't the same place that Esme and Edward brought me to earlier this month.

The living room is well lit, as is the kitchen, but the rest of the house remains in dark darkness. There are sounds of plates clanking, and silence. The silence is protruding, because Esme's humming is missing, as is Rosalie's soft chattering with Edward.

Emmett and I step into the room. Seeing Edward there isn't as bad as seeing Carlisle. The former makes this unnamed feeling well up, while the other makes deep anger come to surface. I hadn't realized just how much I'd grown to dislike the man.

He's sitting by Esme, with Rosalie on the other side of her. For some reason, I see them as walls encasing her within, in a sense to keep her to themselves, or within her own fractured mind. I don't like it at all.

Edward's sitting in a lone chair, his head down, and there's an empty space across him.

Emmett's large, warm hand on my back feels soothing, especially since Carlisle's presence has caught me off-guard. He guides me to the empty seat, thankfully, and sits down besides Rosalie. He's just as close to me as he is to her.

"Hello, Bella." Edward's voice is soft, and I'm not entirely sure if it's because he doesn't want to talk to me, or due to Carlisle's suffocating presence dominating the room.

"Bella." Carlisle's soft voice is startling; it's completely opposite of what I was expecting. The last time I'd seen him, he told me to stay away from Esme; what made him push off of his threat? I'm sure he isn't happy to see me here, but at the same time, he's not opposing it. There's a sullen expression on his face, his eyes downcast. He's not the man I recognize anymore; something's changed about him, but a large part of me doesn't want to perceive that.

"Hi," I reply back, loud enough for everyone to hear. I can't tear away my eyes from Esme's face. She looks serene, but her eyes are dull; she's no one remotely close to the person I'd gotten to know. I'm convinced it's Carlisle's and Rosalie's added presence.

The doubt that I've had about coming here has amplified. I shouldn't be here. Somehow, my hands are clasped neatly on my lap and I look completely confident, as if I belong there externally, yet there's this battle rearing in my head that something isn't quite right. First, there is Carlisle's sudden behavior difference to consider, not to mention Edward distancing himself. Are these changes because of Carlisle or something else? The only way to find out would be by inquiring.

Rosalie's the first to break the heavy silence. "Hi, Bella." Her smile is cold, her eyes anything but warm.

"Hi. Thanks for having me." The latter is directed at Esme, who is still silent.

"It was Emmett's idea." Another jab. That stupid feeling of hurt is back again, and the fact that I don't belong here is present.

"Rosalie." My head snaps towards Carlisle. I see wariness in his expression, guilt in his eyes, and a gentle pursing of his lips. He's the last person I expected to stop Rosalie. "We're happy to have you here, Bella."

"Th—thank you," I stutter out.

"I thought having another person would even out the members the scores." Emmett turns to me next. "We have a Cullen family tradition. Every Sunday in the month of November, we like to play any random game we can get our hands on. Anything that we use to when we were kids."

"Who's choosing first?" Carlisle asks.

"Me!" Emmett's child-like response breaks the tension slowly, and I can feel my own body relaxing against the soft, dark, red cushions. It's an interesting ritual, and I didn't miss the meaning behind the gesture. They're including me in this family gathering, including me in something they've done for years without an outside intrusion.

With a shock, the realization that I may not be intruding on their family time falls over me. Rosalie may not want me there, and I don't know about Edward, but it's the fact that I'm still there, sitting among them, that dissipates any tension, and halts the mental war. They're trying…and it seems as if Carlisle is too. I'm doubtful about him, but I want to enjoy this evening. I can try to persuade myself as much as I want, that I'm here for Esme and Emmett's sake, but a part of me wants to let go of everything and experience what being a part of a family is like. And for that reason, I'll willing myself to listen to that selfish part.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading. Leave me your thoughts? I love reading them.<em>**  
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	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderful SUNFLOWER3759 beta'd this chapter for me. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Chutes and Ladders. I can't recall ever playing this game before.<p>

It doesn't take long for me to become entirely relaxed, and more enthusiastic than I have been in a long time. Even Esme is sitting on the ground, playing along. She and Edward stay on one side, while Emmett is sitting close by both Rosalie and me. Carlisle is the only one not playing. I've seen him smiling though, observing, but the game would bring my attention back to it before my racing mind could over analyze what his thoughts might be.

There's this childish aura around the room; it's a light atmosphere, where pouting, laughing, and whining are all involved and invited. I've never smiled as much in one night before tonight—at least I don't remember smiling as much any day before. The simplicity of the night leaves me wishing that Charlie had been a little more socially comfortable; I wish I'd gotten to do the things normal teenagers got to do.

Amazingly, I win the game. It had been easy for the rest of them, and easy for me to catch on, but for some reason, I'm still left surprised. It's hard to push away the smile, even when Carlisle offers me a King Size Hersey's chocolate bar. Rosalie doesn't look happy, while her fiancée looks the complete opposite. I try catching Edward's eye just to see if he'd at least give me a moment, but he's picking at his nails—as he's been doing the entire night. At this point, I'm not even sure why I'm trying, even when my mind is telling me to forget scrutinizing him.

"I'm tired," Esme states. Carlisle doesn't waste time in assisting her up and towards the stairs. Her eyes catch mine, imploring, and I know exactly why she's leaving at this particular time. She knows Carlisle the best—it's her way of letting me know this isn't the time for him to find out. Perhaps Rosalie will tell him later…I'm pretty sure she will.

Rosalie's behavior change is instant; it's as if a controlling hand over her is lifted without Carlisle's presence. It's the first time since I've known the Cullens that I wish he was here, just to keep a leash on her.

Emmett starts gathering up some of the scattered snack plates, and I grab the bowl of Lays Spicy Chips to help him.

"You don't have to." Edward's hand snakes around the plastic, his fingertips brushing against mine. The electricity that shoots through me from the contact makes me jump, making some of the chips fall on the floor. It's the second time he's spoken to me today. It makes me a bit giddy, but then I refresh my memory for a reason why his manner is so aloof in the first place.

Keeping that in mind, I brush past him, heading to the kitchen. As much as I don't want to, I can't help but relive our time on my patio. My body remembers as much, as a shudder runs down my spine despite the warmth of the room. I remember his fingers running across the soft spots on my stomach, eliciting moans rather than squeals of laughter. My mind tells me that was the first time I'd felt anything with both my heart and my body, rather than being emotionally shut off during physical interaction. Alec's smiling face crosses my mind, but I push it away; there isn't any need to hash out the past.

Emmett's leaning against the counter, his eyes darting towards the entrance of the living room.

I grab a chip, chewing on it while staring at him. "Chickening out?" I meant to tease him, but he glares at me.

"No. Let's do it."

I hold up both my hands. "I'm only here as a support pillow. I'm not telling her—_them_ anything."

"Bella." His tone is almost whiny, and I can't _not_ take pity on him.

"Please don't make me…" His eyes light up as he realizes that I've practically agreed with him. He starts pushing me out of the kitchen gently, staying right behind me.

Rosalie's still sitting just where we'd left her; Edward is making his way towards the stairs, his head downcast.

"Ed!"

"I'm tired, Emmett."

"It'll take just a few minutes. Ed, please."

Edward sighs, his feet making loud thuds as he drags them towards us. "What?"

Emmett looks as me, his eyes wide, and his elbow nudging me to speak. I open my mouth to speak, but one look at Rosalie and I'm quiet again. I don't know what it is about her that sets me on edge; maybe it's the fact that she's too close to Carlisle to make me comfortable, or maybe it's because of her behavior regarding Esme. If she's jealous of the relationship I have with Esme, my friendship with Emmett is the last thing that she'll want.

Rosalie leans forward. It's then that I realize I've been lost in my own world too long. Her eyes are a narrow, icy blue. "I have a question first. How come you came with Emmett instead of Edward? I thought you'd set your eyes on him."

My heart pounds in my chest. I'm willing to bet anything that she doesn't know about his visits to my house. I want to glare at him, but my nails are suddenly very interesting. How do I go on about this? Edward's quiet nature—and perhaps judging, I can't be sure anymore—seems easier approach.

"Remember I told you about my online friend?" Edward nods. "Well…" I tilt my head towards his brother, who is staring at his fiancée with pleading eyes.

"Your best friend? Em?" His eyes widen; his reaction scares me a little because he instantly goes pale. His eyes dart between Emmett and me. This had been the exact reason why I had been afraid to tell anyone, even Emmett.

"_Best_ friend? Since when?" The smile on Rosalie's face is entirely forced; her eyes are staring daggers at Emmett.

"10 years," he replies. His voice is strong, and he straightens up. This isn't just about telling them—it's about delivering it. He's trying to portray that there isn't anything for her to worry about, yet at the same time that he's standing behind me. It's his way of asking her to accept our friendship, because he doesn't want to give either of us up.

Edward's still white as a ghost; his lips are nearly quivering with comments that aren't sounding out.

"Those texts you assured me were a friend? Those were from _her_?"

"Rosalie."

"Was it her?"

"Yes."

Rosalie's bitter words and Emmett's answers are fading into soft whispers as I try to decipher Edward. He's the quiet type, I know that; but he isn't even looking at me. I can't figure out if it's because of shock of this announcement, or maybe he's just trying to digest it. Or is it because of abhorrence, and a sense of betrayal on my part for not telling him first?

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><p><strong>I'll be posting the next chapter as soon as it's back from the beta. :) (And I'm almost done with Ch 32, so yay!)<strong>

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	31. November

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderful SUNFLOWER3759 beta'd this chapter for me in record time; huge thanks to her! All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
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><p>Despite Rosalie's clear disapproval, Emmett had driven me home last night. Maybe because he'd noticed the tension between Edward and me, or because of Edward's frozen form. Sleep didn't come easy, and regardless of the time I'd finally gotten to bed, I'd woken before five am. The only good thing was that I'd get to see Alice, though even that lead to disappointment.<p>

Alice's letter is written in unkempt, scrawling words. It shows signs of being written by someone who hasn't had a chance to write for quite some time. I'm hesitant to read it; I'm not sure I want to know the contents, seeing as she'd given the letter to the nurse rather than texting me herself. I'm also feeling anxious because I didn't get to see her; she hadn't wanted me to.

My fingers are tapping on the wooden table, the letter lying next to me on the couch. I grab and open the folded paper before I can convince myself that I shouldn't.

_Hi, Bella._

_I know, you're mad that I haven't been texting you, but I didn't know what to say. Lauren—my nurse—tells me that some things are better said with explanations, and a text message would've hardly allowed that. If you're wondering how I am, don't worry; I'm fine. I miss you, though. I wish we could've met; nevertheless, you need to read this. _

_You told me about Esme. She sounds wonderful—a lot like you in spirit. I'm sorry to hear about her granddaughter; why is it that the most wonderful people are the ones that suffer sadness in extremes? I'm glad you're able to become friends with her. _

_You asked about Edward and what I think about him. I'm not sure. On one side, I can see he's changing you—for the better._

There's an ache at the mention of his name. I can still remember clearly wanting to know Alice's opinion just a few weeks ago; however, it seems completely useless now.

_But Bella—I can't tell you how to feel. You already know, or you will soon enough. Don't over think; just feel when you're with him. Open up to him. Don't put your walls up when he's around. If he's Esme's son, and if she's just as lovely as you've said, then he has to be just as good. Just make sure you can trust him, and that he won't break you. _

_Will you be here for my birthday? You can petition to become my guardian, and with Lauren's letter of confession that my parents haven't come in even once to visit, I can try to leave here. I really want to come home, Bella. I miss home. _

I'm ready for her to come home, too. It's been too quiet, too lonely, and I really don't like the feeling. Even when I was living with Charlie, I loved the sounds of a game playing on the T.V., or Jacob and his buddies when they would be over. There would be signs of life.

Everything in this house is neutral white—except for the kitchen; even that's all steel. My mother had the house painted a different color, though I couldn't bear to see those colors and remember her every time I walked into the house.

_Drawing—you need to stop drawing. You're mistaking it for becoming close to your mother by having it eat you up inside. It's not so much the drawing, but the reason _why_ you're doing it. You started drawing just after your mother's death, and becoming perfect at it. Yet you've never liked your drawings to be perfect. Do you realize why? You loved your mother's paintings because you thought they were perfect, yet you hate when yours are. You're trying to become the exact opposite of her, except that you chose drawing…exactly as she did._

_You're still holding onto Renee—through your drawings, not the tattoos. Holding onto her memories isn't bad, but having it manifest into loathing and hatred for your mom is killing _you_ inside. _

The paper crumples in my hand. The pressure causes my fingers to push painfully into my palm, but I can't really register it.

My eyes dart towards the ceiling, as if looking through the wall into my room. I don't know what to feel, or what it is I'm feeling. I want to grab the white paint I have somewhere in one of my closets and paint all over the pencil markings. I also want to throw Alice's message away and forget I'd ever received it.

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	32. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The AMAZING **_SUNFLOWER3759_** beta'd this chapter for me. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
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><p>Two days. It's been two days since I've read Alice's letter, and I still don't know what to make of it. Her message questions everything I've taught myself since I was a teenager. It questions everything I've dearly believed about Renee.<p>

Esme's portrait is sitting on a canvas stool in front of me. It's finished, and it's just as I'd hoped it would turn out: perfect. I'd been itching to make some different lines, but I can't even pick up a pencil, save color pencils. They're scattered on the small table in my living room, mocking me.

I want to feel happy that Alice agrees with my decision to befriend Esme and her family; I want to feel relieved, but I can't. I know I have bitter feelings towards my mother, but my drawing? It's become my hobby, my passion since I'd first discovered I could work a pencil over any smooth, blank surface. I can't deny the fact that Alice's words have sparked something inside my mind. Is it true? Is my passion for drawing always present? Had I kept it hidden all this time? I had always believed that drawing was a part of me, while painting had been Renee's. Was I wrong?

Numbness. Utter numbness.

There's a knock on the door, and as I head to open it, I snuggle deep into the shawl that's around my shoulders, the cold seeping through slowly.

Emmett's cautiously smiling face is the last I'd expected to see. I've been ignoring his texts and his calls, and I thought he'd get the idea that I wanted to be left alone. He holds up a box of Ferrero Rocher as peace offering.

"Did you know the lake behind you is glowing?"

I don't welcome him in. "What?"

"Yeah, come walk with me."

"It's cold, Emmett."

"Coat?" he suggests helpfully.

"I don't want to."

He lowers his head a little, his eyes downcast. "I know you're mad at me for putting you on the spot last night, but please, Bella? I had a nervous moment. Look, I just want to talk to you. Remember when I came over the first time without Edward? I wanted to tell you something? Well…I'm ready." A determined expression makes its way to his face, and I know it'll be better to go with what he wants rather than argue.

The lake is just as he'd said. It's nestled right between the South and the West Loop, trailing from central Chicago to northern. It follows along the back lane of houses on my block and the next. The lights from the top of the looming skyline are reflecting off of the water, causing it to glow a golden yellow.

My hands are inside my coat pockets, while his are in the pockets of his jeans. I'm trying to figure out if I should talk to him about Alice…but in order for me to do that, _I_ need to figure out what she really meant.

"Rosalie's calm," he starts.

"That's good." There isn't anything else I can say to that. I take a deep breath to gather my wits before I ask him what I'm curious about. "How's Edward?"

"Quiet."

"Isn't he always?" I can't help the slight humorless laugh that escapes me.

"What happened between you two?"

I shrug. "I dunno. I told him about Alice. Maybe he freaked out about that." Just guesses.

He stops walking immediately, his eyebrows raised. "You told him about _Alice_?"

"Yeah."

He gapes at me. "I didn't realize…" And clears his throat. "I didn't realize you guys were at that point already."

"What? No, he just found her room."

"Her _room_?"

"Why are you parroting me?"

"Bella…"

The strain in his voice makes me pull my brows together. There's something wrong here. Emmett tried to tell me something the last time and couldn't, and he wanted to do that today. But his reaction to the fact that I'd told Edward about Alice seemed to make the dots connect for him. I rack my brain to do so, too, but fail. Alice's words from her letter come back to me, about knowing if Edward's intentions are truthful.

"Emmett, what's going on?"

He rubs his hands over his face roughly, looking much, much older than his twenty-six years. There are tired lines etched on his forehead. His eyes are tired, and there are two frown lines around his mouth. It feels as if I'm looking at a different Emmett than I had been for the last month. I'd seen him smiling, cheerful, or at the very worst, worried.

Now he just seemed…broken. As if split in half.

I could see him crumbling, but I couldn't move towards him.

_There is something so wrong here. _

His eyes focus on me, filling with emotions that I can't decipher. His expression is one of guilt, though. It's almost as if he's trying to push everything else away and keep his mind on me.

He stares behind me, and I turn to see that only the lights of my house are visible. We've walked a good distance, but the evening has turned dark. He starts slowly back the same way, quiet as my patience wanes thin.

"He's feeling guilty."

"What for?"

"That you told him about your life, and he couldn't do the same."

Is he talking about Esme and Vanessa? It doesn't seem to make any sense. I'm sure I appear confused as I inform him that I already know. His expression mirrors mine, with added incredulity. I should be offended.

"He told you about Vanessa?" he asks, shock lacing his voice.

I nod. And I still don't understand Edward's behavior towards me; all I'm left with is that voice in my conscience that tells me it's my fault.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." His voice is so soft, so small.

It feels as if he's someone different from the person I knew since I was a kid. I thought he knew me—completely knew me enough to tell that I wouldn't blame him for this. "Em." I grab his arm, just below the elbow, pulling him to a stop to glance at me. "I don't blame you. It wasn't your secret to tell. You had to think of Esme, of Edward in that situation."

"You're not mad?"

"No."

"You don't blame me?"

"No, Em, I don't."

He startles me by pulling me into his arms abruptly, squeezing tight. I let him for a few minutes before I push against him, sure that my ribs are going to be sore. When I scan his face, his eyes are shining wet, slightly red.

"I knew I'd kept you around for a reason," he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, but there's also a serious tone to his statement. He drops his voice to a low whisper, as if he's talking to himself, rather than me. "It's the first time someone hasn't blamed me in a long time."

I rub my hand over his arm, trying to convey that I'm here for him. "Who blames you?"

He sighs. "Edward. He doesn't say it outright, but I can see it, hear it. And he does so rightly, too. If I hadn't run away to Washington when Mom got pregnant, Carlisle wouldn't have forced him to take the fall."

My heart skips a beat. My breathing deepens. Even in the cold, my hands feel hot, sweaty, and I know my eyes are wide.

"What?"

Emmett halts immediately, turning to watch me cautiously.

"Edward told me Vanessa was _his_ daughter. You're saying Esme got pregnant. _What_?"

"Fuck."

"_What?" _I whisper out skeptically.

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"Emmett, tell me what's going on. Now." There's a voice in the back of my head telling me that I have no right to demand anything from him, but I push it away. I _need_ to know.

He grabs my arm at the crook of my elbow, pulling me along with him to sit on one of the few scattered metal, ground-bound chairs. He sits before me, on his knees, one of my hands grasped in both of his. My fingertips aren't cold, but I feel no warmth from him. Or maybe I just don't want to.

"I'm so, so sorry I didn't tell you this, Bella."

"Tell. Me. Now." Monotone. No emotions.

He shakes his head. "Maybe I shouldn't be the one to tell you. It should be Edward."

I jerk my hand away from. "No, it should be _you_! It's _you_ I've known all my life, it's _you_ that I've trusted with everything in me!" My shoulders are shaking in dry sobs, but still no tears.

"Bells…"

"I've only known Edward for a few days, Em. Even if we were getting a little closer, it doesn't mean that he knows me like you do. He doesn't know about my mother. He doesn't know about my father, or James, or anything that has ever happened in my life. I don't blame you for not telling me, but please don't leave me with this lie. I'll go crazy."

And he does. He tells me about everything, with a faraway look in his eyes. I almost want to stop him because I can see the pain start to embrace him, but I don't. I can't.

"Mom has always had a bit of a weak mind. She's smart, but she's easy to influence, easy to blur the lines of right and wrong. She has continuously had psychiatrist visits since her teens with her regular doctor, but he passed away, and Carlisle had to find her a new one. The thing about psychiatrists, Bella, is that they can get into the inner workings of your mind. They can plant a seed of doubt, and manifest it into an issue that wasn't present in the first place. That's what Alistair did. My father trusted him, but he shouldn't have. Alistair started planting ideas in mom's mind, that Carlisle was cheating on her, or tha he was about to divorce her. One day, he pushed her limits and pressured her to sleep with him, as a revenge tactic."

He pauses briefly, his eyes flying to mine. "Carlisle tried to get legal help privately, but as Mom's metal state wasn't very stable, the lines of consensual blurred."

My chest and my throat are tight. _Poor Esme._

"Mom didn't know what she'd done wrong. Carlisle held her the nights she cried because she could feel guilt without knowing why; he kept her together throughout her pregnancy, even when it was killing him. No one knew she was pregnant, Carlisle wanted it that way. Could you imagine the toll it would take if she had to see judgment on the faces of her life-long friends?

"Carlisle pleaded for me to help, but I couldn't. It was hard to live in that house, Bella. So hard, but I tried. I held out as long as I could, until I couldn't do it anymore. I left, before I was even eighteen, and Carlisle let me go." His pained eyes hold mine, and I can feel my lip quivering. "To keep Mom safe, he told everyone that Edward was the one who had gotten a girl pregnant. His entire life crashed. His friends abandoned him, his girlfriend wouldn't hear a word, and since Vanessa had his hair color, the story played out perfectly."

The numbness has gone, paving way for a bolt of tightly bound emotions to let go, bursting through me, bursting into me with lightening speed. My eyes are burning, as is my nose, and I'm trembling.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

He doesn't want to tell me why. I can see the reluctance, and I brace myself for his response. "I thought you would judge a little too harshly. It's just that you've always been bitter towards Renee…too much," he hurries through his reason, his voice so low that I strain to hear it. "And I was afraid you'd blame me for failing to be the older brother and leave me, too."

I push away my hurt feelings at his statement, probably one of the hardest things I've done, as I wrap my arm around Emmett to let him know that I wouldn't blame him, or leave him, regardless of what he's just said about me.

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	33. Chapter 33

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderful **_SUNFLOWER3759_** beta'd this chapter for me. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
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><p>Perspective. It's strange how a different perspective on things can change a person's life. It's startling how it can force someone to think back to every one of their worst thoughts and actions. Alice's letter and Emmett's confession are both whirling around in my mind. The confession forces me to realize just how much I'd perceived wrongly, and the letter to open my eyes to how much I had changed.<p>

My opinion about Carlisle, thinking he'd been controlling Esme, while the only thing he'd been doing was protecting her. I still don't agree with what he did to Edward, but apparently, at that time, the situation had compelled him to go through such a drastic measure.

I let out a humorless chuckle. The guy I am defending to myself is the same person that I would've blamed anything on yesterday.

The mirror on the back of my bedroom door is mocking me. It's reflecting back the same Bella that I've been seeing for the last twenty-one years, yet it's not. My face has changed; I can see each inch darkening on my skin, as if the bitterness inside of me has manifested towards the surface. I stare, and stare, until my I can imagine my own form crumbling in front of me, my skin turning to ash.

I've changed. And not into a person that I would ever like to be. I keep staring into the mirror until I see the darkness transmit onto my very flesh.

Disgust

My hand flies to my night table, grabbing the phone. I throw it at the mirror with a scream, shattering the top half, while the bottom remains together, but in pieces.

I claw at my arms, leaving behind angry streaks of red. They won't go away. Helplessness is turning into frustration, and the frustration is turning into tears, and I cry. For the first time since the night my mother died, I can feel the walls crumbling in my head as fat tears roll down my cheeks. I throw a hair brush at the mirror, and then anything that I can find.

I should be annoyed at the mess I'm making, but to finally let go…it's a little soothing. The dark on my flesh is fading. I fall to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees, as if to hold myself together.

My heart aches.

I cry for Alice, whose life became a nightmare at a very young age.

I cry for Esme, for her betrayal by someone she trusted.

I cry for Emmett, because he was strong enough to resist his father, thought he had to leave his family.

I cry for Edward, who did something so unselfish, and whose life was upended and reunited, turned.

I cry for Carlisle, who lost his entire family because of one wrong decision, and for not being strong enough to face the truth.

And I cry for myself.

I'd let myself become the person that I'd accused Renee of being: selfish.

I'd become selfish.

These marks on my skin, marks that I know aren't existent, remind me of the pain and burden I carry inside. Most of all, they remind of everything I'd let myself become, just because I didn't want to face the aftermath of Renee's death.

Alice was right. Alice was _so_ right. I had let Renee's action take over my life, let it manifest into this deep buried anger in my chest.

I had to let it go.

My arms ache from the scratches.

James.

I cry for James. I'd lost two parents that night. Renee left me because she couldn't handle the pain, and I was okay with that. What I wasn't okay with was losing two parents that night. All I had was Renee and James, and I'd lost them both that night.

I cry for Charlie. Sweet Charlie who took me in and dealt with me the best he could. What I considered quiet, comfortable nights before, now appear in my mind as delusional. I can remember the twitching of his lips, as if he wanted to talk to me, but he didn't know how. As if he always walked on eggshells around me.

I strip off my clothes, not caring where they call, or what my feet stepped on. I get into the shower, putting the temperate as high as I can handle, letting the scathing water redden my skin.

I know what I need to do. Something I should've done ages ago.

As much as I want to stay under the water, I can't.

I dress in warm leggings and a hoodie, grabbing nothing but my debit card, some cash for the taxi, and Esme's painting with a sticky note on it.

The cab doesn't take long to arrive. I take a last look at my house; this is what my life had become. Dull, boring, and inconsistent. I need stability. The kind of stability that only a parent would be able to provide for their child. Or at least some peace with how I'd treated Charlie in the past to ease the guilt.

I ask him to stop by Esme's house, giving him vague directions as to where she lives since I didn't even have her house address.

I leave the painting outside, feeling sure that Carlisle or Edward would be leaving the house for work, or Emmett for his morning run. I could only hope that they would bring it inside before the morning's cold could spoil the pencil shadings.

Next stop: airport.

I keep looking out the window. The lights outside make reflect my own face back at me. My eyes are a dull brown again, that spark that Edward initiated is now lost. My hair remains limp on my shoulders. My appearance is annoying me. Or maybe it's just how I'm seeing myself. I give up, pulling my hair into a bun, concentrating on the early joggers or the dog walkers. I look around the streets, watching different faces, young and old. They have lives that I would never have, living in ways that I never would. I never had a morning walk with a pet, nor a jogging session, too worried about who would see me. I never had the typical Saturday with Charlie. Instead, I spent it sitting alone in a small meadow behind my dad's house, wishing to _feel_. I'd pushed my feelings away so much over the years, that they were afraid to come up and let me experience them.

And now that they had come finally to the surface and pushed their way through…I am afraid of them.

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	34. Chapter 34

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderful **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes my sentences understandable. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
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><p>I didn't bat an eye at the price for immediate flight tights.<p>

I didn't bat an eye when the taxi driver told me the price to drive all the way to Forks from the international airport in Port Angeles.

But the closer and closer the cab got to Charlie's house, the more nervous I became. I keep reminding myself that I need to do this. And when that didn't work, I thought of Esme. I wanted to do this for her, too. I'm hoping that Charlie will help me through this haze, mainly because I want to become someone that I can be proud to look at the mirror, and also because I _know_ Esme needs me. Yet I would be no help to her if I'm not stable enough to keep my own emotions in check.

The drive ends too soon. I pay the driver, who can't get back to the city fast enough.

My hands are twitching against the side of my legs, and my footsteps are slow.

Before I know it, I'm in front of the door. _He doesn't bite. Just ring the bell._

People are moving around the block, cars driving up and down, as the day is beginning. I get a few curious looks; I don't move.

I must've been standing too long, because an elderly woman calls out from the next house.

"Charlie's not home!"

"Do you know when he'll be back?" I feel as if I'm shouting. I've never been comfortable with raising my voice higher than I need to be heard, but I don't want to move off of the porch.

"No; you're more than welcome to come wait here if you'd like, sweetheart."

Forks. A town where everyone knows everybody, and wouldn't think twice about inviting a complete stranger into their house. Too trusting. But I can't. I thank her, and move my fingers by the window, lifting off the chipped wood to find the key.

_Charlie really does need to be more careful. _

The front door unlocks and I take a deep breath as I step inside. It's so familiar. There's this woody scent that wafts from the house because of the constant rainy weather, and there's also sharp smell of Charlie's gun cleaning supplies, as well as the calming scent of his body wash present. It seems he'd just left for the day.

My fingers linger on the door as I lock it shut, and then on the walls. I've missed this place. I'd never thought of it as home, but Charlie had always been like home to me. My eyes hungrily take in the pictures he's hung up on the walls of me. Just me. No pictures of him, or Renee; only of _me_. He'd put up pictures that I didn't even know he had. He'd never seen me at my ballet performance when I was seven, yet he had a picture. He'd never seen me trying to learn skating, but he'd seen it in a still photograph.

Warmth spreads through me, and my chest tightens with a feeling I've never felt before.

Home.

This is what a home should be, filled with memories.

The front door swings open. The first thing I notice is Charlie's gun pointed at me and his brows furrowed. He looks at me a few times, blinking as if unbelieving, and he lowers the gun. Before I know what I'm doing, I scramble forward, wrapping my arms around him and all's forgotten about Renee and my imperfections, even if only for a few moments.

I'm not a hugger; I usually like to keep my hands to myself, preferably in my pocket…but it's Charlie. I've missed him more than I realized. Moving to a different state had been difficult in the first week because of the routine differences; I just never associated feeling into it. Perhaps that's why I called him so little—every time I did, I realized just how much I'd gotten used to making Charlie meals, and knowing that he was just a few footsteps away from my room if I ever needed someone.

"Bells?" he whispers. His voice is shocked.

"I missed you, Dad." Saying it out loud makes it real, makes it strong.

Clinging sound rings out as the metal weapon falls from his hand onto the floor, and he's wrapping his arms around me too, and it's so protective. He's holding me as if I'd disappear if he loosened his arms. He's holding me as if he's caging me from everything in the world, protecting me.

Contentment.

It's not how I imagined our reunion to be, but I wouldn't change it for anything.

"What're you doing here?" He lets me go, walking around to put his holster belt and gun on the table by the door, along with his keys.

"I wanted to see you." I don't know what to do with my hands, so put them both into the pocket of my hoodie.

"Don't you have classes, though?" It's touching to hear that he remembers my schedule by heart. It makes me ache a little more knowing that he'd known the times he could call, but he never did…for my sake.

"Yeah, but…"

He turns to me, and I'm sure he can notice the dark circles under my eyes.

"You look so thin, Bella. Haven't you been eating?"

"I have. How come you're home so early?" _Segue at its best._

"Mrs. Cope called. Said she saw some girl going into the house." His moustache twitches as his lips quirk up into a smile.

Had I really spent that much time just looking around at the walls?

"That explains the gun," I tease him.

"Hey, you never know what can happen."

"It's Forks, dad."

"Forget Chicago. You big city folks can't even imagine the type of dangerous criminals here."

"Yeah?"

He leans towards me, whispering, "Oh yeah. Mrs. Cope next door poisons people through her apple pies. Decline if she ever asks you to taste some."

I let out a laugh. A belly laugh, even though what he's said isn't as funny as I'd taken it. I'm just glad to be able to focus on something a little more light hearted. This is what I love about Charlie. He learned enough about me to know when I need someone to listen quietly, or when I need someone to fill the silence. He's worried about me—I can see it in his every glance at me, but he's also happy. The wrinkles around his eyes aren't as prominent as the laughter in his eyes. His smile makes his entire face light up, it makes him look younger than he really is. It also takes away the fatigue that makes him look older.

"Where are your bags?" he asks me.

"I didn't bring any."

"How long are you planning on staying?"

"Maybe a week." I hesitate. "If that's okay with you?"

"Anything, Bells. Anything."

I can't help but blame myself knowing that most of the worry lines on his forehead are because of me. I vow to make this week the best I can, and hopefully reassure him that I'm starting to be okay now.

* * *

><p><strong>I am donating an outtake from Carlisle's point of view to ChristmasToys4Tots. <strong>**  
><strong>

**I am donating a one-shot (**summary: Edward meets the woman of his dreams on the internet, or at least who he thinks is a woman. The internet lies, after all. How will Emmett get out of this one?**) to Fandom Fights Hurricane Sandy. **

**Please consider donating to these wonderful causes!  
><strong>


	35. Chapter 35

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderful **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>I still wake up at five. The number holds no significance for me, but for some reason, my mind had associated five am as a wakeup call. Thoughts of Emmett, Esme, and Edward are poking at the back of my mind, but I push them away. This is Charlie's weekend, and mine. He deserves me to treat him like a father, and he's the only one who can help me at this point. He knows me; he has for ten, full years and now, he can finally tell me everything he's had to hold back.<p>

_I have to help myself before I can help Esme. _

It's become a regular chant for me. There's a part of me that wants to talk to Esme, because in the last two months, she'd become a constant in my life, stability that I had never welcomed before her. Instead, I text Emmett to let him know that I'm okay, that I'll be back in a few days. I shut off the phone, trying not to think of the effect it would have on Emmett; he'd probably blame himself, thinking his confession had sent me packing.

I dress in warm clothes, hoping to make breakfast for Charlie, but I keep forgetting that years have passed and he's gotten used to living without me.

I'm pleasantly surprised to see him pouring pancake batter into a pan. The person that I remembered couldn't even boil eggs.

"Morning," he greets without turning around. He answers my silent question, "I heard your feet tapping on the floor. Why aren't you wearing your socks?"

I wiggle my toes on the wooden floor. The bottoms of my feet are cold, but I don't actually have any fresh socks that don't smell. I need to go shopping soon.

I sit down on the chair, folding my legs under me to avoid the chilly morning air.

"Why are you awake so early?"

"I wanted to make you breakfast before I went in to work." He looks at me apologetically. "I can't take today off, but tomorrow, we'll go fishing."

I smile at him. Some things don't change. I nod, keeping my eyes on the pancakes. There are that are a little too brown and they're oddly shaped, but they look delicious. The moment isn't lost on me; it's the first time that he's ever cooked for me.

"How did you learn to cook?"

He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. My eyebrows lift up. I'm pretty sure there's pink spreading up his neck, the telltale sign of blush, and a good secret bubbling up.

"Dad?"

He hesitates briefly before sighing. "Sue taught me."

My mouth drops open. "Sue? Leah's mother? The same Leah that cut off my ponytails when I was eleven and had to move schools from the Reservation to Forks?"

"Leah's matured now," he defends. His voice isn't that convincing and I smirk at him.

"So…why was she teaching you how to cook?"

"Because she knows I can't."

"How does she know?" I bite my bottom lip to keep the smile at bay; it's fun to see him blush for once.

"We hang out."

Hang out? Dating. He's dating Sue…

I should probably feel weird that my father's dating another woman, yet I'm happy for him. He's been lonely far too long. However…I can't help but wonder if Sue is the reason that there are no pictures of Renee here, or if there ever really were. I'd ask him before this week is over.

I look at him slyly. "Do I get to meet her?"

"You want to?"

"Yeah. Maybe we can go to the Diner some night?"

He's surprised; heck, I'm surprised. I'd never been one to go out to dinner, let alone suggest it. It's time for a change, though; I want to do everything that I'd deprived both Charlie and myself of.

"Did you email your Professors and ask for the homework?"

I hum at him in agreement as he drops two large-sized pancakes onto my plate. He brings the honey and chocolate syrup from the fridge, leaving the honey one closer. I don't even remember why I'd never had any chocolate syrup before; something about weight and cholesterol that I can't remember anymore.

Charlie cocks his eyebrow at the amount of chocolate I'm drizzling over my pancakes…and maybe a part of me is, too. But something is new.

"You know," Charlie starts. "I never did find out why you left Yale."

His question startles me. I don't want to answer him; he wouldn't take lightly to knowing what exactly made me move from Yale to Chicago's Art Institute.

"I wanted a new view?"

I beg him the best I can without saying anything, and maybe he hears me, because he doesn't carry the subject on.

"Tell me about Chicago."

I tell him everything as we eat. About the house, my classes, and even Esme. I hold off about Edward and Emmett though. It is because I know he'll go protective, especially on the fact that I'd been talking to someone on the internet for so long without even mentioning it to him. Soon, though.

He gives me a one-arm hug before leaving for work, his hand squeezing my shoulder tightly.

"It's good to have you back, Bells. I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Dad." _I just hadn't realized it…_

I try to tidy up the place, but there's nothing much to do. Either Charlie has gained more abilities than just cooking and he's been cleaning too, or Sue's been coming over and helping him do it. I lean more towards the latter.

The house seems too empty and quiet without Charlie—something that used to be a comfort me, but now only serves to make me feel lonely.

I grab my credit card before heading out, hoping the truck that Charlie had bought for me is still somewhere in the backyard, and that it still works. The keys are easy to find—they hadn't been moved from where I'd usually left them when I'd drive home from school: the hook by the door.

The sky looks angry with dark clouds, however, it isn't raining. The dark daylight makes the house look eerie, with chipping paint and a broken step in front of the porch. I make a note to try to get Charlie to paint it with me. It could be fun. Fallen leaves are scattered all over the lawn at the front and side of the house. My eyes look longingly towards the trees behind the house, but I can't go today. Not today…

I find the truck easily. Charlie had thoughtfully protected it with a large plastic cover. The four corners had rope loops around them, tied around a large nail on the ground. I take them off, folding the cover before putting it in the small, grey empty shed attached to the side of the house.

The door creaks when I open it, and I have to run back to the house for a plastic bag to put on the seat because it's damp. It doesn't start the first two times, but I try it for the third time, and it roars to life. Charlie must've used it at times to keep it working. My chest swells; maybe he'd been hoping I'd be back for it…for him.

The town hasn't changed. Most of the houses are still the same, scattered a few on each block, giving each family more than enough space. I drive past the blocks of homes, past my old High School, and reach the Newton Plaza. While the plaza's main store is Newton's Outfitters, there's a small clothing shop, a salon, and an auto shop nearby.

I grab a packet of socks first, and then move onto the boots. There aren't many varieties, as most are just hiking boots, so I skip them altogether, hoping to bide time with the warm boots I'd worn from Chicago. My hands itch to grab the simple shirts and hoodies, but I force myself to look at the v-neck t-shirts, and some front-zipper sweaters. Change can start with appearance.

With shopping bags in hand, I walk back to my car. The hairstyle pictures on the windows of the Salon catch my attention. I run my free hand through my hair, pulling the long strands to the front to look at the lifeless ends. Maybe…

I step into the store before I can really think about it.

The receptionist greets me, "Hi, can I help you?"

She smiles at me warmly. I like her.

"I wanted to get a haircut," I stammer out.

She points me to one of the chairs. There are three, but they're all empty. A young girl named Jane, with curly, short, light blonde hair ushers me to one of the chairs, putting a full length apron on me. I'm completely lost when she asks me what I want as my "new" hairstyle. I'd come into the store on a whim, but I'd never really thought about it. My hair has always been brown, always half-back length, parted in the middle. I want it completely different.

"You have natural red highlights in your hair already…do you want to enhance them, or change your entire hair color?"

I pucker my lips to the side. "Color them."

She gives me a toothy grin. "What type of cut?"

I give her a lost look. "I don't know…"

"Well, a U-cut would suit you—it'll keep the length but give you a new look. Or you could go with the layers if you like your hair wavy or curled."

I choose the former, closing my eyes as I feel Jane's fingers working through my hair, brushing along the strands. It takes an hour or two, but they pass fast as Jane talks to me about the process. She asks me who I'm visiting, that she's never seen me in town before. I learn that Charlie's quite famous around this area, and that he sometimes brings in the overload of cupcakes that Sue bakes, for the girls working here.

"You ready to see your new look?"

I nod my head as she turns the chair around, and I take a few seconds before opening my eyes. I want to visualize the girl I'd looked like before all of this, before coming to Forks. The girl that held her head down, the one who had degrading thoughts of Rosalie as if she were a dog, the girl who forgot the reason she started visiting Alice.

That wasn't who I want to be; I will be the person who laughs, who smiles, and doesn't let little things like bitterness get to her. I won't be.

I open my eyes and they flit to the dark, almost black-red color of my hair, then to my mouth.

The sides of my lips tilt up before they part, forming a small grin.

Here's to the first day of smiling…

* * *

><p><strong>How was your Christmas? Plans for New Years? Talk to me!<br>**


	36. Chapter 36

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderful **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Heidi used to tell me to keep a journal. She would have me write down all the notes about my days and how I felt for a month after Renee's death. After it became clear to her that I wouldn't write, she'd have me draw. I'm finally doing as she told me to, though nearly a decade late. Since the thought of even picking up a pencil to make lines makes me sick to my stomach, I've taken to writing down how to spend the day, how to make progress.<p>

And so far, I've only felt unease.

"I like it," I tell Charlie defensively.

He's still gaping at me, and I nervously twirl the short strands that frame my face. That adrenaline from the rush of doing something spontaneously is gone, and I'm looking for his approval more than anything else. I want him to know that he's important to me, that I want him to be involved. He hadn't had a chance to look at it last night since it had already turned dark. The red in my hair isn't noticeable much, and he hadn't been paying much attention.

However, the day's light does attract attention to my hair, making the change obvious.

"Should I take this as a call for help?" He asks, his voice wary.

"No…" My brows furrow.

"It's just that I've never seen you…like this."

"What, with a different hair color?"

"Yeah, and the," he grunts out, flailing his hands as if to refer to my new hairstyle.

I know what he means, and it's something that I'll have to acknowledge from the Cullens too, I suspect. Charlie's in more of a shock because I'd never really changed much when I was growing up. I'd never cared about the fashion or latest trends. I was comfortable in the sweaters and a hairband. But I needed to grow up from that phase; I needed to accept it.

Charlie clears his throat, moving the blinds by the entrance door to peek outside. It's pouring heavily, ruining the plans he had for us. The disappointment shines in his expression.

I go through my memory, trying to find something that would improve his mood.

"Do you want to watch a game? We could call in some pizza." He likes watching them almost as much as he does fishing.

He turns to me, grinning behind his bushy mustache. "Nothing's better than pizza during the rain."

An hour later, with cheesy, meaty goodness on bread, in hand, I learn that there are nine players in a baseball team, not including the backup. I have the brief thought that playing rather than watching would be fun before an imaginary sound of sickening bone cracking passes through my head. Yeah…I shouldn't play.

"Do you want to take your truck back with you?"

I purse my lips to one side, before to the other. I wonder if Charlie's fishing… "I don't think it'll survive the trip."

He hums, chewing on his pizza slice.

"Why do you still have it?"

He shifts, his favorite worn, leather chair groaning. "I use it."

My eyes narrow at him. "Liar."

His moustache twitches. "No, really."

"You never drive anything but your official car." Is it wrong that such a small thing can make my chest swell? I knew some parts of his life. When I look at him, I see his slightly graying beard, and the permanently etched wrinkles deep in his forehead and around his eyes, and I find that he'd been an open book for me; I just never read beneath the obvious. He had never hidden anything from me…I had been the one doing the hiding—behind my drawings, using them as a safe protection from both him and Renee. He never deserved it.

Funny how situations can change in mere days. Even the thought of drawing makes me nauseous. My stomach flips, and I will the feeling away.

He diverts my attention. "How about we do something tomorrow? Fishing, or we could go hiking. You loved the woods."

_More like a meadow instead of the woods… _

Spending time sounds nice, but I only have three more days. I'd rather meet Sue tomorrow and then use the next two days with him. He ought to know that he doesn't have to be awkward with me about his girlfriend, that I'm happy for him. I want to show him the little clearing behind his house. I want to show him my place of solitude, where I would go and everything else would disappear. I'd never entertained the thought of bringing anyone there before, though it's about time to. Charlie has the right to know about my life, something he should've been privy to since I came to live with him. Since I never offered him those moments that he had the right to back then, I can certainly do that now.

"When're we meeting Sue?"

His thick brows pull together, his face displaying his shock. "You really want to meet her?"

I nod.

"Well…I'll ask her when she wants to come over."

"Okay."

The game is still on; I don't even know who is playing against whom, but I let a smile flit across my lips. I'd made progress today with Charlie; I'd let him in a little, and I had definitely made plans to show him the one place that remained sacred to me.

I could do it.

One step at a time.

* * *

><p><strong>Closure first...<br>**


	37. Chapter 37

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderful **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Charlie got called into work today in place of someone who'd fallen ill. That had happened before, but I'd never realized just how much his presence kept the feeling of protection around me. I scold myself, forcing the thoughts out of my head. If I want to move on from the past, I need to stop comparing it with everything I do and feel today.<p>

Charlie's absence gave me a chance to visit the meadow without having to hold back any feelings. My decision last night had been impulsive; I didn't think about the implications that coming here would have on me.

The thick branches block out the splatter of rain out, leaving dewdrops to shine on the various flowers. The meadow is set in a circle, leaving the middle bare except for grass. I let my back rest against a tree trunk, not caring about the dampness of the wood. I cross my feet over one another, my eyes taking in the greenery.

This place provided me sanctuary against all the hurt, all the pain. It helped me lock it inside. It helped me trap a large part of myself inside a small part of my brain, letting two locks cage me—one small and another large.

I'd already broken the smaller lock when I came to Charlie; at least it felt like it. Visiting him allowed me to come to terms with the fact that there is a part of me that longs to have my childhood back. It also allowed me to peek outside of the cage, and all I could see was my meadow. But it appeared different; more colorful, more open. It had sunshine and rainbows and a world in front of me. I want that.

I could feel the battle raging inside my head. I wanted to remember the mother that raised me and played water paint wars with me, but after the night of her death, the dominant part of her abandoning me, of being too weak to fight, pushed the other away. I'd let my rage consume me to the point that I'd forgotten just how much I loved her…how much I missed her.

There is no excuse for how I treated Renee's memory.

I didn't keep any photographs of her, no reminder except her paintings, but in a way, they _are_ her. She had put every bit of herself into her work. That's where I learned to stop making my drawings perfect, because I wasn't perfect, and I never would be. But would I change anything in my past if I could? I don't know yet. What I do know is that I'll break that large deadbolt.

"Was I not enough?" I whisper out to the empty field. "Why didn't you try to fight? James and I would've done anything save you; didn't you know that? You still left me. No child should know that helpless feeling of being unable to save the one person who means the world to them, yet you forced me to acknowledge it. Why didn't you wait until I was asleep? You left me, and then James left me…"

I can feel my throat closing up. "Do you know what that taught me? It taught me to run from my problems. It taught me that I couldn't take Charlie for granted, that I couldn't get close to him because if I did, he would leave me, too. And then I would have to pick up all of my shattered pieces all over again, without any help. I ran away from Charlie the first chance I got, and then I ran away from Alec.

I know that I can't fault Renee for my actions. I'd shown my weakness by blaming her; I didn't try to push past the hurt all these years. I'd only enforced it by getting tattoos as a reminder of her in the wrong sense.

No more.

"But this week, I took the first step. It's the first time I've ever come back just to mend a relationship, to mend _me_. And I'm going to do it, too."

I have to. "I'll find _me_."

Deadbolt broken.

* * *

><p><strong>Edward's in the next chapter with a sweet kiss...<br>**


	38. Chapter 38

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderful **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.  
><strong>

**The awesome emeraldphoenix23 helped with the last chapter, and I'd completely forgotten to mention that in my hurry to post. I wouldn't have been able to write the last chapter without her.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"You'll come visit soon?"<p>

I nod. I need the reassurance that I can come back to Forks next time without hesitating just as much as Charlie does. "Christmas."

"Or Thanksgiving. I'll get you the tickets if you need."

I smile at him. I won't have him buy them; he's by no means struggling, but he's not living comfortably either. I can afford the fare.

"And I'll meet Sue then?"

He looks at me apologetically. "I'm sorry we didn't get to go fishing."

"Next time."

"We will, next you visit me," he promises.

I shift, my hands itching to get ahold of the small, carry luggage just so that they're not nervously twitching. "Or you can visit me, and see my school and my house," I add.

He looks touched. He seems to understand, what I have failed to say outright.

"Sounds good, kiddo."

Now we're just looking for a way to say our goodbyes; neither of us is good at it. But maybe this doesn't have to be a goodbye. It could just be a "See you soon" because I'm certain I'll be back to visit. This week has soothed away those unknown, heavy feelings that I'd carried with me for a decade.

He hugs me awkwardly, one hand around my shoulder and the other stiff by his side. I return it the best I can.

He waits as I check in, and round the corner to the plane entrance.

.

.

It's all white, all over again. The constancy that I sought as safety before, no longer is a comfort. I purse my lips, tilting my head to the side. The bag that contains my new clothes lies by the side of the door. I could go buy some paint…or even clean up my closet…

The weight in my pocket demands attention, though; I'm just stalling so I don't have to turn the phone on. I still have to call Charlie to let him know I'm okay. It's the missed text messages and calls from Emmett that I'm dreading.

I straighten up, plugging my phone into the charger in the kitchen, wincing as the screen lights up and I see the number of missed calls and voice messages.

The most surprising thing is hearing Edward's voice on the other end, though. They all start out the same way.

_"Hi, Bella,…Esme asked me to leave you a call. Call me back." _

_"Bella, Esme came by your house twice. Where are you?"_

_"Bella, Esme's worried. Are you okay?"_

The last one changes; it makes my heart beat just a little faster. _"Bella, call me. I'm worried."_

I don't want to look at Emmett's text messages. I'm sure they'll have some colorful words within them. I shoot him a small text, just with the word "Hi" in it. I figure I can't go wrong with that one.

A knock at the door alarms me. There are two more knocks and then a thud. When I open the door, I find Edward's retreating figure, head hung low. His white, button down seems wrinkled today.

"Edward?"

He pauses, tensing. He turns around, his brows furrowed. He looks unkempt. His reaction is startled, surprised, as if he wasn't expecting me to be home.

I tug on my grey hoodie. "What're you doing here?"

He moves closer to me with small steps. He doesn't speak, "What am _I_ doing here? Where have _you_ been?"

I bite my bottom lip. "I was away."

He laughs through his nose. "I figured."

"I had to visit my father."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"I texted Emmett, told him. I had to go… It was important."

His eyes soften and he runs his hand through his hair. "He told us. I just got worried when you didn't reply…Esme couldn't get a hold of you, either. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm good, actually—really good."

"I see." He nods towards my hair, a small smile finally appearing on his lips. He looks so much younger with a smile, a little more relaxed.

"Do you—do you want to come in?"

He pursues his lips, pulling them to one side before the other, looking cute as heck. I step aside, raising my eyebrows to encourage him. He tilts his head downward before stepping in, letting his arm brush me lightly. I close the door and rub my hands together to warm them up after the cold air.

"Don't you have heat in here?"

"Asking the man who's wearing just a shirt?"

"You can blame Esme for that." He points to me. "Every time I step into the house, she only asks if you're back."

Poor Esme. A pang of guilt hits me as I realize I should've left more than just my painting outside of the door. I should have left a note explaining where I was going, so she wouldn't worry. I had been thoughtless.

He must've noticed my expression as he tries to ease me. "She understood, though. I'm pretty sure she understood."

"I got your voicemail."

"Esme understood. I didn't." He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes downcast. "I thought you'd left because I was an ass. I should've stayed that day, I should've explained…"

I shake my head at him, looking at his behavior in a completely different way. He hadn't left because of Alice's story; he'd left because he felt guilty for having to keep a secret when I'd let him in fully. "Emmett explained it to me. It wasn't your secret to share." I shrug at him hopelessly.

My fingers flinch against my sides. I want to reach out and touch him to reassure him that it's fine, but the realization that he'd only left because of his guilt, has forced another question to come to my mind. Could we go back to whatever it was before? Those moments when he'd randomly text and I'd thoughtlessly invite him over for lunch? Or those warm kisses in the cold air outside on my small, back patio?

He steps closer to me, his jade eyes contrasting with his pale skin. He tugs on the bottom of my hoodie to pull me closer. "Thank you."

I hum, my throat closing up as one of his hand runs down from my hip to my hand. His fingers interlace with mine, clasping them tightly. It makes goose bumps rise on my arms. The smell of his aftershave swirls around my head, and when I look up at him through my eyelashes, the look in his eyes says everything.

His vacant hand goes to the back of my head, pulling my closer. Instead of kissing me, he lets his forehead rest against mine. We still have so many questions and answers to ask and share, but for this moment? This is fine. It's just what we need right now. No words…and no heat.

* * *

><p><strong>I didn't play out as I wanted...the characters have taken their own voice in my head.<br>**

**The next chapter is written out already, so it should be up soon.  
><strong>

**If you're looking to read something light and fast, I posted up my one-shot for Fandom Fights Hurricane Sandy. Do check it out. :)  
><strong>

**Thanks to all the readers! I didn't have time last week to respond to everyone because of my work schedule and essays.  
><strong>


	39. Chapter 39

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Careful!"<p>

"I am!"

The ceiling on the living room is higher than I could reach on the chair, so Edward insisted on covering the fan and the lights. He's on his toes, his hands up on the ceiling, and the chair is wobbly. It's causing me to yelp out randomly, which I'm sure isn't doing anything for his already delicate balance. I grip the bubble wrap roll in my hands tightly.

The chair is wobbling, and I'm afraid he's going to fall; even his biceps flexing as he wraps the thick tape on the handle of the fan, can't distract me from the worry.

He had so sweetly offered to go with me to the nearest Lowe's to pick up some paint cans yesterday. He'd even helped me pick out the colors, scrunching his nose up at a golden yellow I'd blindly pointed at, and giving me the thumbs up on a light cream-pink color. After spending majority of the day hauling the cans out of the trunk of his car, he'd gone home after promising to come back the next day to help me paint, and I'd crashed on my bed.

"You're sure you want to do this?"

I breathe out slowly. "Yeah. This should be fun."

He smirks at me, picking up his paint roller. He teases me by moving it closer to the wall and then retracting his hand. I narrow my eyes at him.

"What're you waiting for?" He asks.

I pull my lips back in a mock wince. "I don't know. What if I don't like the color? What if it looks weird? What if when I walk in next time and think I'm in the wrong house and run back out?"

He snickers, putting the roller down before pulling me to face him, his hands on my shoulders. "Then you can change it. It's _your_ house, Bella. If you don't like this pink color, we can go back today and get a different one."

"Not white?"

"No, not white. You said you wanted something different…well, this is it."

His eyes are soft, and the overalls he's wearing this morning looking ridiculous.

I nod at him. He points back to me, eyeing the second roller. "You first."

It shouldn't be such a big deal; it's just paint that can be colored over later if I don't like it, but it feels like much more. I'd never really had a choice before regarding what type of house I lived in. Renee controlled their house in Phoenix, Charlie didn't like change in his house, either, and this house was already furnished when I arrived.

Making any type of change would be accepting that this house is mine. I would no longer believe that it's just Renee's.

I let out a breath, a smile spreading as the first line of paint makes it onto the wall.

"Good," Edward starts. "But next time, make it straight."

"Hey!"

"The wall is going to look all rough if the texture is uneven."

"I'm tempted to say I don't care."

He sticks his tongue out at me, making me laugh. "I would have called you out on that lie."

I want to ask about Emmett, about how he is…only, I'm afraid of what the answer might be. "How is Esme?"

"Good. She's coming over later to help."

"She doesn't have to…"

"You try telling that to her. The woman doesn't listen to me." His tone is exasperated, but not serious.

"Don't get me wrong. I want to see her; I'm just not sure how I'll feel if she does the work."

"She doesn't have a patient bone in her body. She can't stay seated in one place, so don't feel bad if she steals your roller."

We work in silence for the next few minutes, painting at the opposite ends of the wall. The furniture has been moved into the center, making the room look much bigger than it is. Plastic covers most of the wooden floor by the wall.

The smell of the paint isn't as prominent as I'd expected it to be, but it's still present.

I finally muster up the courage. "How is Emmett?"

"Busy. He's opening the gym in just a few months. He still has to conduct the interviews, arrange the equipment. But right now, the rooms are being constructed."

I don't miss the fact that he steered the conversation a different way than what I was intending. "Where is the gym going to be?"

"Just West of Halsted St. There's a park nearby for the outside joggers, and it's just by interstate 90 and 94. Good for commercial, you know?"

I nod.

"He was talking about stopping by today with Esme."

"Oh?"

He hums.

And the nerves kick up again. I can't imagine how mad he'll be that I didn't explain much to him, nor did I answer his numerous phone calls. I push them away, though. It's been a great week, and I'd find a way to apologize and make it up to Emmett.

Edward's stomach growls loudly, enough for me to hear. The tips of his ears turn red.

"Do you want take-out?"

"What's good here?" It's a sad realization that I didn't order out for anything except pizza since I've been in Chicago.

"Thai food, Vietnamese, Chinese…. What are you in the mood for?"

The doorbell rings. I'm pretty sure it's Esme; however, when I open the door, all I see are three small bags.

I tilt my head towards Edward. "How do you feel about Taco Bell?"

.

.

"Have you ever been arrested?"

I look at Esme with wide eyes. "No."

She points at me. "Then you give me a warning next time, before you take off like that. If you don't, I'll send someone after you." Her eyes are narrow, which prevent me from chuckling like her boys are.

"Got it."

"Good."

I'm half expecting her to reach over and pull my ear as reprimand.

Emmett's not talking to me much, but he's here. He stayed, which speaks louder than his silence.

"How long have you been working on that?" She points to the pink colored wall with white still present in the middle.

"An hour or so," Edward answers, clearing the table of the empty wrappers and napkins. I grab the rest, bringing some cans of soda.

"We can finish this room today."

"We?"

Esme nods firmly. "We."

Before I know it, the four of us are painting; Emmett to my left, Esme to my right with Edward next to her. It's different this time because it's no longer silent. Esme's exchanging small comments about work and Edward's life, as if this is the first time they've met in the entire week—maybe even month. I feel as if they're talking in their own little bubble to allow Emmett and me some time to make up.

I shuffle my feet closer to him. "So…"

He grunts out.

"How are you?"

"Good."

"Thanks for the lunch."

"Esme insisted."

I wince. "I'm sorry I didn't answer. I had to go—I _needed_ to go. I was living in the past, and I know you knew. You can't tell me that the visit wasn't good for me. Even Esme noticed!"

He whispers out angrily, "It's not the fact that you left. It's that you didn't talk to me."

"I'm sorry, okay?"

"Not okay." He pulls on my elbow, his voice low. "You've been talking to me about every little thing since before you were a teenager. How do you expect me to just forget about that and pretend that I don't notice that you don't need me anymore?"

My eyes snap to his. I finally understand his anger, but I'm at lost for words. I don't know what to say that will make it any better.

"I'm sorry."

I avoid his eyes, going back to painting.

Those two words…I'd hated them when people said them to me. They are hopeless—they never make anyone feel any better, only helpless, yet as I stand in front of Emmett, looking at his downfall look, I know of nothing else to say.

Something cold lands on my left arm, causing me to whip around to look at Emmett in shock. He's holding the plastic crate, paint dripping onto the plastic sheets beneath his feet, the rest of it on my flesh. The blue is striking, but his action is more so.

"This makes us a little more even."

Edward's head pops out from behind Esme. "Paint fight?"

* * *

><p><strong>Fast, right? :)<br>**

**Check out the one-shot I donated to Fandom Fights Hurriance Sandy. It's been posted.  
><strong>

**Thank you!  
><strong>


	40. Chapter 40

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty. All mistakes are mine.  
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><p>Sign in, wait, and then be collected by the nurse; repetition that I'm starting to hate.<p>

I stand outside of Alice's door, watching her frozen on her bed. I want to ask her nurse about becoming her Guardian, but I'm nervous; however, I don't know who else I could ask without getting her in trouble for giving me Alice's letter. Besides, I have to thank her for letting me come back this month since I couldn't meet with Alice during my last visit.

I take a quick look at her name tag. "Hey, Lauren, I wanted to ask something…" The smile on her face encourages me. "I don't know if you read Alice's letter, but she mentioned something about me becoming her guardian. She said I could remove her from this institution if I take legal charge of her."

She purses her lips to the side, her brows coming together. "The simplest way would be not becoming her guardian, since she'll be turning eighteen. I would suggest that you help her file a written request for discharge. The facility staff will have three days to determine the mental illness and if she can be left in your care. You'd be her care-taker, rather than a guardian, though."

"If she 'passes'?"

"You can take her home."

"And if she doesn't?"

Lauren sighs heavily, her eyes looking at Alice's still form. "If the staff decides that she isn't ready to be let out yet, that her treatment isn't finished, then she will have to stay until determined fit to leave."

A weight sits on my chest. "Okay. Thanks," I murmur out.

She pats me on the back, stepping into the room after me. I silently remind myself to spend this visit with Alice focused just on her. I'd spent the last few talking about me, and Esme, and Edward…this will be just about her. She needs to know that I am here for her.

I see the same bed, same chair, and same Alice. Her hair doesn't even seem to grow, but I sense that it's been cut. It's a lot more even than it used to be, almost as if it's been styled a certain way. I'd ask Lauren about that later.

"Hi, Alice."

I squeeze her hand softly. "You look great; your hair looks different; did you cut it yourself or did one of the nurses do it for you?"

I've never felt more at odds with myself than right now; it's almost as if I'd spent the last week thinking she'd answer me back when I came to talk to her.

I stay silent for a few minutes, wondering what else I could say to her. I almost don't want to address the elephant in the room, but I know I have to.

"Your letter… Since you'll be turning eighteen in two weeks, I can't become your legal guardian, but we can file to have you discharged. We still have to wait until you're old enough to be away from your parents' authority. We could win, Alice. You could come home."

Her index finger twitches ever so slightly in my hand.

"I bought some purple paint for your room. You've always liked that color, right? I'm thinking of doing that after school tomorrow. If you want, I could get wallpaper instead…"

I tell her about my idea of having white and light purple silk curtains for her window, with a violet, flower-themed comforter. I talk to her about her room and the house until it's time for me to leave.

I try to hug her as best as I can, the first time I've initiated such contact.

Lauren assures me outside of the room that she'll get the papers necessary for the Discharge Request and that I can come and sign them next week. It's an odd feeling to be walking out of here alone. Somewhere amidst sorting through my mind, I'd let myself believe that I wouldn't be alone after all; that Alice would be back and we'll be back to normal.

It's almost foggy outside of the hospital as snow is falling steadily. So much for walking home…

One thing I didn't previously realize about Chicago was how fast the windy city could become snowy. I had Googled a bit about it before moving, but to personally experience, not only the cold that came with the ice, but also the trudging, is a totally different thing. I can feel the burn in my legs from the knee pulls. It has wet my jeans up to my calves, chilling me to the bone. I'd need new boots…ones that don't absorb the water.

Forks had its snow days but being on the North West coast, it wasn't as much as Chicago. Snow in Forks was always light, never exceeding past a little above the ankles. And it went away just as fast as it came due to the consistency of the rain.

I squint my eyes to look for a taxi, but the snow is coming down so heavily, and whitening the streets almost to the point where only the lighted signs are visible.

Starbucks…It outshines all other buildings, with the big illuminated star. I make my way there for some coffee.

After gathering my cup of hot, simple, French Vanilla, I have trouble finding a seat. Those who are stuck because of the snow or whose cars got stuck in the snow seem to have made this their temporary living room. Suddenly the phone vibrates in my jeans pocket, almost making me spill the hot liquid on myself. the name on the screen brings a smile to my lips.

_Home, yet?_

_No, not yet. Why?_

Buzz.

_It's snowing and I know you were visiting Alice._

His concern makes me feel all warm and tingly.

_I've left the hospital, but I'm at Starbucks._

Buzz.

_I would kill for a mocha right now._

_I wouldn't have pegged you for a mocha guy,_ I tease.

Buzz.

_Oh?_

_I find it bitter... _My heart beats a little faster as I realize what I really mean.

Buzz.

_Can I see you today? _

_When do you get out of work?_

Buzz.

_Six._

Four more hours until he clocks out for the day. I would rather he come over, too, so I don't have to be alone tonight, regardless; but I still have four hours to kill. He's not that far from here…

On a whim, I order a tall mocha and head out once again, this time towards the hospital where he works. By the time I reach there, my lungs burn, and my legs hurt from dragging my now wet boots; however, it's almost exhilarating, even if I now hate snow. It's something new, almost like a workout.

The waiting room is almost empty, although the emergency door has two or three EMTs hovering. What do I do now? Do I just ask to see Edward? One look at the receptionist tells me that this was a bad idea. I'm feeling almost as anxious at Edward's reaction to my being here, as I am asking for him. What if he is busy, or wouldn't like me showing up to his work? It's not as if we have an established something that gives me the right to stake a claim on him. We're just…us. We're certainly not acquaintances, but friends? More? Do I even want to put a label on us?

I've always been of the mindset that labels kept people from breaking out of that shell, but for the first time, I can understand the need for it. Labels on relationships provide security and comfort without insecurity.

I shake away the thought, gathering up the courage to ask Stanley. I'm close enough to smell the chocolate flame-free candle she keeps rubbing her hands with.

"Is Doctor Cullen in?"

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No…"

Her dark brown eyes travel down my form, almost looking sympathetic.

"Have a seat, I'll call him for you."

I thank her, shuffling towards the plastic chairs, and the glass table in front of me shows the reason for the unexpected sympathy…strands of my hair are falling over my face, which is beet red, from the apples of my cheeks to my nose. When I scan the walls around me, a small framed poster catches my eye.

**Volunteer **

**Therapy Programs Available To Students**

**Specific Field Focuses**

**Information Available at Front Desk**

A hand lands on my shoulder, making me jump a little.

"Whoa, hey." Edward chuckles as he steadies me. He's got his lab coat off, but he still has the formal dress pants and button down shirt. "You okay?"

"Yeah, perfect." I thrust the coffee cup towards him, gripping mine tightly. "I brought you this."

His face lights up. "You brought me Starbucks?"

"You said you'd kill for one."

"And you thought I was too pretty for prison?"

"Something like that." I grin up at him.

He takes a sip of his drink, his nose scrunching up. _How cute…_

"Come sit with me?" He motions with his forehead towards the hallway, walking beside me. I find it more than interesting that he walks right beside me…not ahead as leading, nor behind as a gentleman would, but right beside me. I'm acutely aware of his left arm that is swinging close to my right one…if I head a little closer, we'd be brushing against each other. I almost want to reach out and grab his hand.

We reach his office, and the first thing he does after pulling my chair out for me is heat up both our coffee cups. I blush at the realization. The cabin-like room is warmer than the rest of the hospital.

"Did you grab a taxi on the way here?"

I shake my head. "Walked."

He looks at me, wide eyed. "You're joking."

"What?"

"It's bloody freezing out there!"

"I had to walk home from the hospital anyway…"

He narrows his eyes at me before relenting. "I didn't know you were a coffee drinker."

"Some days just call for it."

He sighs heavily. "I agree."

"How long have you been here?"

"I had to cover a previous shift, so since four am."

"You're kidding."

"Nope." His lips pop at 'p'.

The poster in the lobby comes to mind. "Hey, about the volunteering services, what does the volunteer do?"

"There are different programs." He takes his seat next to me rather than at the bigger comfy chair across the table. It makes me a bit giddy. "You can shadow doctors to see if that's the type of work and career you want. There are different categories, I suppose. Anything in particular you're interested in?"

No hesitation. "Art therapy."

"There's a great program for that—you actually get to work with kids. You don't need to have any type of degree for that as long as there's a psychiatrist present in the room."

"What type of work is it?"

"Mostly drawing. You have to drawing something on the topic that the psychiatrist gives you, and prompt the kids to do the same. Sometimes there's freelance drawing, where you have to interpret their art. Rose works with them; she knows more in depth."

"Oh…" Last time I met and talked to Rosalie, she was mad at me and I'd referred to her almost as a dog who needed Carlisle's leash. Horrible, how could I think such a thing? I still have to make up for it…I would make up for it. And if I want to help Esme, I'd have to extend a friendship hand to her, or at least become acquaintances.

"Bella?" I hum in response. "I can get the forms if you want; it has detailed information in it." His smile is encouraging.

I agree to his offer, taking a sip of my coffee. I almost spit it back out. It's the bitter taste that lasts even after the sip, strong—definitely not the French Vanilla I ordered for myself.

Edward looks amused as he takes a sip, too. He already knew…when he took the sip in the lobby.

I narrow my eyes at him, but he gives me a boyish grin, his face tilted a little low so that he's looking through his eyelashes innocently. _Dammit. _I can't stop the crinkling around my eyes as a smile tugs at my lips.

"Hey, Edwar—"

Our heads turn to the door. Standing there in a lab coat with a folder in hand is a beautiful lady, her blonde hair pulled into a bun. Her light blue eyes are kind, as is her smile, but I get put on edge. She's looking at Edward a little questioningly, and my stomach tenses in fear as my mind speculates what relationship they share.

* * *

><p><strong>So...instead of posting two chapters, I thought I'd make each one longer.<br>**

**Check out the one-shot I donated to Fandom Fights Hurriance Sandy. It's been posted.  
><strong>

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><strong>


	41. Chapter 41

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

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><p>The last fifteen minutes have taught me that thongs are uncomfortable, Jimmy Choos are a must, and that Tanya can be very talkative.<p>

And sweet, really sweet.

Whether she's talking to fill the silence or make me feel more comfortable, I don't know. But I like her. The questions that I had about her and Edward previously are gone as I watch the two of them interact. She's got her small, heel clad feet up on the table, sitting on Edward's chair. I briefly wonder why both the doctors are taking time off together, and who is attending to the patients; however, Tanya's story has me in raptures.

"And he ended up on the dance floor with a pink thong, singing some wacky song that was popular decades ago."

And that's how I know thongs are uncomfortable. Edward's expression is sour.

"Stop trying to gather her against me." He raps his knuckles across Tanya's head. She slaps his hand away. "I blame the mixture of vodka and jello."

I'm almost jealous of their friendship. Not because I'm afraid of how close they are, but because of the ease they both share within their friendship. It shows trust, promise, and loyalty that only comes along with having a real friend.

Looking at their banter reminds me of the rough bridge with Emmett. I can't deny that visiting Charlie wasn't a bad idea because it allowed me to become more comfortable in my own skin. If I had told Emmett about going to Washington, he would've stopped me, or insisted in coming along, and I needed to do it alone. I'd been through the turmoil of emotions alone, and I needed to pick up the shattered pieces to put them all together again by myself, too.

"You should make an entrance like that at the reunion!" Tanya crackles.

Edward groans, covering his face with his hands. "I will never live this down. I don't even wanna think about the reunion and the nickname."

"Spoiled sport. Wouldn't you want to see that, Bella?"

Should I side with Tanya or feed on Edward's obvious embarrassment… I do like the slight pink in his cheeks. "I would pay good money to see that happen."

"Stick around for another year and you'll witness it first hand—I promise." She winks at me before sighing and getting up. "Don't know about you crazy kids, but I have work to do. It can't be ignored any longer."

"Get out, Straws."

She glares at him, doing the fingers to eyes thing in the "I'm watching you" motion. She's a hoot.

"It was nice meeting you, Edward's Bella. I hope to see more of you around. You make the senior citizen here smile." She affectionately squeezes my shoulder, her words reminding me of Edward's introduce earlier, when he fumbled over it and said, '_This is my…Bella._'

I turn to him, cocking up one eyebrow. "Straws?"

He chuckles. "She wanted to make a statement in college; something about hair products gaining too much importance. She wore straws on her hair strands and in a sorority prank, some of her 'sisters' glued them together. She had to get a few inches of her hair chopped off in order to remove them."

I'm not entirely surprised that Tanya was in a sorority; she's got the good looks and the charm.

"What happened to the girls who did that? Where they ever caught?"

"Not by the University staff. Tanya would've done them a favor if she'd actually let the Dean handle it. She got her revenge herself." He shudders to indicate Tanya's revenge skills.

I let out a laugh. "I wouldn't want to get on her bad side."

"No you wouldn't…"

He looks deep in though. "What're you thinking about?"

"My reunion, everyone knows what happened…"

"You don't want to go, do you?"

"No, not really, but I have a year or two to make a decision, anyway."

He absentmindedly grabs my right hand in both of his, his thumbs rubbing the back of my hand as he ducks his head a little. He moves my fingers, playing with them as if composing a piano piece.

"I always get this tune in my head whenever I'm with you," he murmurs softly, his breath washing over me. Spearmint…

He starts humming, this soft and peaceful melody. It sounds like low notes, starting off a bit fast before developing into a slow hum. The one thing that is common throughout it is the softness and the consistency.

I realize two things as I listen to him, watching his eyelashes flutter across the apple of his cheeks. They're long enough for me to be envious for.

One, the melody that he's humming defines us perfectly. It starts off fast as we'd both been thrust together from Esme's matchmaking and from me knowing Emmett. It then transitions into slower, to when the two of us had gathered our own rhythm. The second thing is that talking to him about—whatever the two of us have—wouldn't really label us. It would only make things clear. It would establish something that we would be comfortable with...we both would be on the same page.

Talking can be good…I could come to terms with it.

I don't want to break the moment, but I'm afraid I'll back out if I don't talk to him now.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He questions.

"What is this?"

"A song, a melody," he whispers with a smile.

"No, I mean…this." I wiggle the index finger of my vacant hand between the two of us.

"What do you want it to be?"

His gaze is gentle, patient. He's not trying to irritate me nor trying to push me; he's only trying to find what I'm looking for; he's being thoughtful.

I shrug. There's no experience from my side to go on. What Alec and I had was purely physical, yet everything with Edward seems to start with my emotional side. Aside from tingles, it's only feelings that have gotten us to this point.

"That's the beauty of it, Bella. This can be anything you want it to be."

"So if I want to hold your hand, I can do that?" I question innocently. It's not _exactly_ what I want to ask…almost close.

He grins. "I'm hoping you'd do much more than just that."

I blush, casting my eyes down.

"We have a lot to work out, I know, with everything happening around us…but I want to see where this leads. I haven't felt like this for a long time, Bella. Either because I became so career focused, or because if I did make time, everyone around this area already knows my family, thus believing the untrue story of me being Vanessa's father. I don't want to start a relationship on the basis of a lie. No one would've understood the situation."

Except me…

It's as if he's reading my mind.

"Except you."

His fingers squeeze mine. "I still can't believe it, you know? I thought you'd be angry, that you wouldn't want to talk to me after learning the truth. But there's a lot more about you that I need to get to know." His smile lights up the room. Even when talking about such a difficult time, he's not letting the past dictate his current day. He's already dealt with his issues, come to terms that the past cannot be changed. He's come to terms with the fact that life goes on no matter what.

He straightens his back, playfully manipulating his expression into seriousness. "So, Bella, how does this sound?" He holds up our entwined hands.

"It sounds perfect." No words could've been said better. Slow is what we need right now. There's more at stake than just the two of us.

"One condition, though. You can't just run off anywhere, any time. You need to give me some type of reassurance before leaving like that, okay?"

"Okay." I nod. "As long as you promise not to pull away like you did when I told you about Alice. My mind jumps to wild conclusions."

"I am truly sorry about that."

"And I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly. I didn't realize you'd be so worried."

He eyes me. "I felt you countless messages. Those weren't any indications?"

"I didn't check until I came back," I admit.

"No wonder Emmett looked pissed."

I wince at the reminder. Speaking of Emmett…I should text him soon. I'd told him the night before that I'd be seeing Alice and I always talk to him afterwards. He must be waiting.

"Hey, Edward? How do you feel about dinner with Emmett and Rosalie?"

He looks surprised, "Tonight?"

"No. I still have to clean things and paint today, but soon? I can toss the idea out to Em."

He looks thoughtful. "Even after Rosalie's behavior towards you, you want to go to dinner with her?"

"I figured I'll be seeing a lot of her. Besides, I want to volunteer for the Art Therapy Program, and she could help me grasp the ropes."

"Sound good. A double date…"

"It'll be fun."

He smirks. "Are you trying to convince yourself?"

"No…" Even to my ears I sound timid.

He smiles reassuringly. "It will be. Rose admires a brave soul who is willing to step ahead and offer a hand of friendship."

My chest feels light. Perhaps from having the "talk" or because I'm thankful that both my mind and my heart have made the right decision of feeling some sort of attachment to Edward. I'm already convinced that he's one of the sweetest, most understanding men alive.

He lets his hand rest on my back, leading me to the front entrance. After the long debate of whether I would wait in his office or if he'll come over for dinner he relents, only if he is allowed to call the taxi.

His care makes me swoon a little. I'd never experienced these types of protectiveness, nor the feeling, but there is a first time for everything…such as PDAs.

There's a woman in the waiting chairs, and the receptionist, but Edward doesn't care as he tugs on my hand, pulling me into his body. His arms wrap around me, heating me even through the thick coat; they lock me into a protective cage. A shudder passes down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

He dips his head, wetting his lips. They're soft as they touch mine, and when he nibbles on my bottom lip, he sets me on fire, down to the tips of my toes. My arms twitch between us as my hands grab the back of his shirt in my fists. Two more soft kisses and he pulls away, his eyes dark. Those two are certainly not enough, but the setting isn't right. I don't want to step back; I do, though, as I can feel eyes burning into the back of my head.

"I'll see you later," I manage to stutter out to him.

"See you," he whispers back, one side of his lips quirked into a smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you! Leave me a review; I'll do an embarrassing little chicken dance every time my phone rings. ;)<br>**


	42. Chapter 42

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Dinner was different than what I had expected. Edward brought red wine and seafood with delicious lobster bisque—perfect for the weather. It's the afterwards that's special, though. He brushes away the plastic from the walls, exposing the fireplace. It's an electric version, one that I've never use before. He takes a few seconds to turn it on as I grab a blanket from the closet in the hallway. He pours us some of the wine, collapsing by my side. The glasses lay untouched on the table.<p>

"I can't believe you've never seen this movie."

"I've never really been a fan of action movies," I tell him.

He looks at me as if I'm crazy. "But…this one is so good! It's like having all those superhero dreams come true."

"It is your favorite?"

"No, but I feel like a little kid very time I watch it."

He presses play on his laptop, letting it stay by the wine glasses, snuggling closer to me. His pinky interlaces with mine.

His excitement is cute to see.

I sort of understand his train of thought. I'd shared myself with him this afternoon after my visit with Alice and he's returning the favor by sharing bits of himself from before his family fell apart. It's a sweet gesture.

The warmth of having a body next to me is incomparable. Despite the lateness of the night, I'm not tired considering the time I woke up. I know Edward has been awake and working longer, but there's a peaceful, excitement on his face that I've never seen before.

I try to pay attention the movie because one of the characters—Tony Stark—is interesting with his quick and witty comments. His snarky and care-not-for-others attitude makes me wonder how it would be to adapt to that type of personality. To not let anyone's opinion matter.

"So why does he have an iron suit?"

"He got kidnapped and almost died, and the kidnappers were going to kill him eventually after they used his expertise and knowledge on building weapons. He, along with the doctor, builds this suit to escape."

"What doctor?"

"He saved Stark and installed his pseudo heart."

"Where did this happen?"

"It was in the Iron Man 1 movie."

"What does that blue thing do?" I'm sure my constant stream of questions is annoying him, but he seems pleased about my interest.

"It stops his heart from being punctured." He pauses, turning to me with a raised eyebrow. "You seem to be showing an awful lot of interest in Stark."

I widen my eyes, trying to look innocent. "No…" I draw out.

He narrows his eyes playfully. "Do I need to step up my game?"

I take a sip of my wine, hating the bitter taste, but loving the way it warms me. "He makes Pepper the CEO of his company, and you bring me lobster bisque."

"_Delicious_ bisque. Clearly I win!" He sounds so serious that I laugh. His nail scratches at the little bit of paint that remains on my arm from Emmett's attack.

He shifts a little closer to me. I'm insanely aware of how near he is. His thigh is touching the length of mine as is his arm. He's so close that I can smell that calming ocean scent of his body wash. My fingers twitch to get closer still.

I turn back to the laptop to distract myself.

As much as Tony Stark is interesting, I wouldn't want Edward to be any other way. He's sweet and forgiving, the two personality traits that I have never encounter in a man before. As much as I feel for him for every wrong thing that has happened to him in life, I can't deny that it has shaped him into whom he is. Losing his childhood to protect his family has left him without a companion. Losing Vanessa made him stay with his parents as he'd realized the importance of family and sacrifice. Losing his brother to distance made him put his plans on hold, but he has learned to forgive. Everything that has happened to him made him…Edward. A beautiful person, inside and out.

Credits to The Avengers roll by and when Edward looks at me for my reaction, all I can do is move close, almost on top of him. I'm so close to him that I can taste wine and a distant taste of spearmint on his breath.

No more fear or anxiousness. The afternoon proved that we would see where this leads, and I don't want to hold back the hands that want to bury themselves in his hair. I don't want to hold back the way I react to him.

And simultaneously, I don't want to let the things in the past hold me back from what I can have now.

I'd be like Tony Stark, not holding back, and I'd be like Edward, forgiving and moving on.

I lace my fingers through the soft strands of his hair, tugging slightly, watching his eyes close. His hands move up my sides, fingers touching the exposed skin as my shirt lifts up.

I can't get close enough.

I don't know what to concentrate on; his fingers that are now fluttering up and down my spine, his lips that are running down the column of my throat or his leg that slips between my own.

I relax a little, letting myself just feel.

His lips make their way to my jaw, teeth nipping slightly before he brings one hand to the back of my head to reach my lips against his, pressing them roughly. His other arm tightens against me. He pushes up on one side, somehow managing to flip the two of us. His lips press down against mine, rubbing slightly. Heat builds in the pit of my stomach at the pressure, but my own jeans are tight, not letting me feel the as much of _him_ as I'd like.

He pulls back, letting out a breath through his clenched teeth. His gaze is questioning, and when his fingers tug on the edge of my shirt, I realize why. As much as I don't want to, my head butts in. I want to remove all the barriers between us but it is by those that I am reminded of the glaring barriers between us.

Like always, he understands. I almost wish he didn't. I want to run my hands on the planes of the skin on his chest, and his back to see how his contracting muscles will feel. I want to slip my hands down to his jeans, wondering if his reaction is as strong as mine. With one last kiss to my collarbone, he falls next to me on the small couch.

"I'm—"

He cuts me off. "Don't apologize."

I don't.

"I didn't mean to…act like that, didn't meant to let it get so far."

He rubs his face with his hands, the movement causing him to almost slip off onto the floor. I grab the front of his shirt to keep him in his place. He presses against me again, letting the tingles at the tips of my fingers and toes off.

"You okay?" I whisper out to him. He shifts, and I try to hold in my gasp as I feel the budge of his jeans against my hip.

He winces, shifting away a little.

"Yeah, it's just…you drive me insane," he mumbles against my temple. I move closer to him, letting my chin rest just below his collarbone. He calms my heartbeat down, even if his sweet words make me melt. "I can't think clearly when you're so close to me."

"That makes two of us," I murmur.

My cold feet find their way around to his exposed ankles. He lets out a sound yet doesn't pull away.

"Hey, Edward?"

* * *

><p><strong>Slowly, but surely.<br>**

**You all are AMAZING! Your constant support, words and thoughts, and encouragement are absolutely wonderful! This hasn't been a good year, and last week was particularly bad, but all your reviews made me smile amidst the chaos that real life causes. I adore you-every single one of you.  
><strong>

**Leave me a review; I'll do a shimmy this time! ;)**


	43. Chapter 43

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Waking up in an uncomfortable and stiff position on the couch wasn't as pleasant as having warm arms wrapped around my waist. I bury my head in Edward's chest as I yawn, mashing my eyes shut together before opening them to look around. The clock above the still burning fireplace indicates minutes until it's five. The time makes me shoot up, but Edward's arms prevent me, making me fall back onto him.<p>

He groans as he wakes up. His hands fist up as he rubs his eyes, before opening just one. He looks at me with an adorably confused expression.

"Bella?"

"Sorry, I was trying to get up."

"Why?"

"I fell—"

His hands grab at my waist to pull me back to him. He peppers kisses all over my neck, making me squirm against him. "I meant, why are you getting up?" I can't stop the giggles when his stubble tickles against my collarbone, but he soothes the tingles away with a brush of his lips, leaving behind a soft heat.

"It's getting late," I whisper to him.

"So?"

His kisses turn to nibbles, and it gets hard to refocus on the reasons. "School…work…"

"…Can wait," he mumbles.

I melt against him, letting him pull my head towards his to reach his lips. His are so soft against mine. The fact that he's otherwise letting me take control over this physical touching pools warmth in the pit of my stomach. I grab at his shirt, and bite down gently on his bottom lip. The groan that vibrates against me feels electric. To see just how far I can push him, I dig my nails lightly into his chest, feeling his muscles tense up.

His every pass down my spine, down my sides, makes me yearn for the feel of his lips. I want to know how they would feel sliding down my back, or down my sternum. I want to know how it would feel when he would finally touch me, without the barrier of clothes and unsecure thoughts. I want him to caress, to become acquainted with every inch of me, with his fingers…or even his lips.

His hand rises to cup my chin, leaving one last bruising kiss before three gentle ones. His head falls back, and I let my head fall into the crook of his neck. Despite the early morning and the sweat from the rise of heat between both of our bodies, he smells unadulterated good—like _male_.

"Breakfast?" He asks breathlessly. His silent pants and his thumping heart let me know that I'm not the only one affected.

"Uh huh." I nod into his chest, yet I make no move to get up. It's a nice bubble, just the two of us; I know we both have to get up soon to start our different days. I don't want to, though. It's not the school and facing Aro's inquiries that I am not looking forward to, but to Emmett's response. I'd texted him yesterday, but hadn't received a reply since. I don't know whether to think his anger still hasn't dissipated or if Rosalie's opposed to it. She has every reason to; even if she didn't give me a chance, I did nothing to help that predicament.

We eventually gather ourselves, and he lets me shower and get ready first. It's a double edged sword; it's good because this way I can start on the breakfast, but at the same time, knowing he's just on the second floor under my shower makes me want to drop everything and join him. I try to shake off the image of water droplets dripping down his back, his muscles taunt like—

Pancakes; I should make pancakes.

Using cooking as a distraction works until my phone rings. I find myself hoping that it's Emmett. It turns out that my sprint from the kitchen to the living room was for waste. I open the email from school, which lets me know that while classes are open, so is the option of using ClassLive in order to participate if the streets are covered with snow. The window above the kitchen sink is frozen with ice, and I get goosebumps along my arm just at the thought of bracing the chilly air.

That thought doesn't stop Edward. He marches to the front door with wet hair, peeking his head out. When he turns back to me, his eyes are red—from the wind, I suspect. His shirt is wrinkly from last night, but he manages to pull it off somehow.

"There's actually not much snow." He shudders melodramatically.

My lips form a small 'o'.

"Enough for me to drive to the hospital," he adds.

"What time are you clocking in?"

"Eight thirty. Are you planning on going to class?"

I nod to him. If he'll be able to drive, I should be able to get to class.

"I'll drop you off on my way." He sits down next to me after pushing my chair in, taking his phone out from his pocket. "Emmett texted me earlier; he said they can go out on Friday if that's okay."

I try to push away the pang that hits me. Emmett really is hurt, more than I had previously thought. I can't blame him, either; if I think back, I can see all the little things I'd done that unintentionally hurt him. He'd said that I told him everything; I was dependent on him for a whole decade…and then I brushed him aside. I remember all the calls and texts and his comforting voice after every meeting with Alice, yet I'd told him I was meeting with Edward yesterday.

I'll set things right, though.

I roll my shoulders backwards, trying to get rid of the dull throbbing from staying in one position last night, trying to be subtle about it, but I've found out that nothing passes by him. After he finishes his juice, he stands behind me, startling me a little. Everything around me fades as his fingers dig into my knotted muscles, his thumbs brushing them in upward strokes.

My eyes slip close as I moan out, "Was this part of your doctor training?"

He chuckles, tilting his upper torso down so that his chin is resting on my shoulder and his stubbly cheek is grazing mine. His fingers don't stop their work on my shoulders. "No; I just read a lot on relaxing and massages during high school. It was quite the ladies magnet."

"Proven theory?"

I can feel his lips lift up against my skin. "I'm not sure if I want to answer that in fear that your opinion of me might change."

I roll my eyes playfully. My mind is trying to bring up my judgment on Carlisle, but I push it aside; the past chapters have closed, and there's no point in revisiting them. I need to read on.

"But," he continues, "in order for them to have known about this skill, they would've had to talk to me."

"You didn't talk to them?"

He hums. "I did, just not much. And they got offensive instead of just thinking of me as shy. They thought I was being rude."

I pat the fingers that are on my shoulder as his thumb digs gently into my back, "Poor thing."

"Hey, just because it didn't work then doesn't mean it isn't useful. I'm at an advantage right now from my point of view."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Yesterday—I remember the feeling of insecurity, but today seems to be completely different. It's amazing how embracing a new day can change the way you look at things around you; the brightness of the day reflecting off of the color all around me, the smell of snow and cold surrounding my senses, and the rhythmic scrapes of the shovel against the ice.

With the adrenaline rush gone along with Edward, fatigue catches up with me. Somehow, I make it to class. I sag on the stool, my index and thumb finger rubbing my eyeballs to get rid of the sting from the late night.

"How was your date?" Esme's voice, although soft, makes me jump. My bag falls to the floor from my lap.

Professor Aro glances in our corner of the room, or at least what I've dubbed as 'our corner'. Esme and I always sit on the left side of the classroom, the rest opting for the stools closest to the door.

I raise my eyebrows at her after Aro turns back to his lecture on shading for objects to make a drawing more realistic; it's nothing new. I remember the videos I'd watched and the instructions I'd read on the internet years ago.

"I noticed that Edward never came home last night."

I can feel the burn at the tips of my ears. "His car got buried underneath the snow…"

"Uh huh." I bite my tongue to stop from becoming defensive; she's only teasing good-naturedly. The grin on her face says everything she isn't. "What did he bring you?"

"Seafood."

Aro passes out the thick paper for painting, halting next to me. "I hope whatever was going on has settled, Miss Swan. You've missed out on the presentations. I'd like to see you after class." And straight to the point…

Esme looks at me with mirth in her eyes, and I feel very much like a young, school girl, trying to halt giggles behind the teacher's back instead of being reprimanded.

I focus on the paper in front of me; it's a simple outline of a flower, with petals overlapping other petals, and a small bud in the middle. No leaves, no thorns—the way life never is. I eye the paint brush warily. I've never been good with paint colors, and I've never tried it after declaring painting vindictive and against me.

I can hear the light chatter from the right side of the room and soft brush strokes from Esme. It's so natural to her; it's as if she's not even trying to paint and the brush is the one leading her hand. Pencil has always been the master of my hand, laying down the picture that otherwise remained in my mind. But Alice's words…they remind me of the anger that I'd let build up inside of me. I can't draw yet…but I can paint. At least I can try to. I have to remember: new things, new beginnings.

My hand is shaky as I grab the thin wooden stick, letting the soft bristles brush against the back of my left hand. I dip it in water, coloring the inside of the flower, just a thin line against the black outline. When I paint in the dark red, it stays just within the area I'd previously made lines with water. My eyes keep finding Esme's painting, the colorful mixture of different types of strokes—it's filled with life. And mine, it's completely empty. Void of any type of emotion.

And I can't stop the discontentment from creeping into me.

Esme hugs me warmly when she leaves, making me promise to call her or stop by soon as she has something to ask me. My fingers twitch as I wait for Aro to finish gathering the pieces of painting from all the students.

He sits calmly in front of me, his fingers interlaced on his stained and worn desk. "Your drawing was turned in by Mrs. Cullen, but your participation grade has suffered."

I nod at him, not knowing what to say.

"But I held you back for a reason. In my line of work, Miss Swan, I interpret art. I held you back to show you an interesting piece Mrs. Cullen did on you. I find that art and hobbies and music are all little insights into a person; in this case, drawings done by a person or another person."

He brings out the canvas I clearly remember as the one Esme painted on. When he lays it in front of my eyes, I know what he means; the confusion melts away. There are wisps of hair framing my face, a light color filling from my neck, changing into a dark one as it moves towards my head. It's not just the hair she was pointing towards, but the _mind_. It's almost as if Esme's trying to paint a cage where my mind is, and open light where my heart is. It's so vivid. She'd drawn the light overbearingly, as if it could push away the darkness.

And maybe it already has.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you. I can't say that enough.<br>**

**Leave a review; I'll do...a jiggle? Hip thrust? I'm running out of ways... **


	44. Chapter 44

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>I muse over Aro's words and Esme's work as I make my way down the Institute's steps, pulling my brown wool sweater around me tightly. A part of me wants to talk to Esme about it but I don't know how to go on about it. Her interpretation of me has left me shell-shocked, when it shouldn't have. She's very observant; I've known that all along. Her expression of understanding comes to mind when I'd apologized for leaving Chicago without a moment's notice.<p>

It warms me to see Esme waiting for me, leaning against the black Mercedes.

"What did the Professor want?" She asks when I'm close enough to hear.

"He wanted to show me your painting."

She beams at me. "Did you like it?"

"I did. I loved how vivid it was, and the colorful blending of the shades."

It's amazing how she can be comfortable with her portrayal of another and not be at all worried about their reaction, not that she has anything to be cautious of. Her point of view has offered me the security that I didn't even know I had been looking for.

Carlisle steps out of the car, coming to a stop next to Esme. His posture is staggering; he doesn't look like the strong and empowering doctor that I had met before. He's a bit more relaxed today, and the air around us isn't so constricting as of result.

"Hello, Bella."

"Hi." He makes me feel anxious, but we're both at the same point in our lives. We're both trying to fix the mistakes we've previously made. I try to push away the feeling of expectation of his previous angry, stand-offish demeanor.

"Do you need a ride home?" he asks.

My jaw unlocks and my lips part in surprise.

"It's okay," I manage to stutter out, "I could use the walk."

"Nonsense, you were going to come over later on to talk to Emmett anyway, weren't you?" Esme pouts.

I twist my lips to the side. I can't argue with her because the more days that pass by without communication makes this unknown feeling deep in the pit of my belly heavier. I refuse to lose my best friend.

Carlisle opens the back door for me, his expression has smoothed into nonchalance. I don't know which is worst; knowing that he's judging me for the tattoos or his sudden calmness. Esme's probably talked to him about his attitude, or maybe Edward has. Or maybe he's giving me a chance without any superficial judgment. Just like I should.

I smile in return.

The car ride isn't as bad as the last one; Esme keeps the conversation going and music is playing softly, so low that I can't understand the words nor recognize the voice. When we arrive, the Cullen house looks different for some reason. There seems to be more light on the second floor; it doesn't look so forlorn with darkness. There's a feminine touch in the way the curtains are pulled back halfway down the window.

I hope with everything in me that Emmett is willing to listen.

Carlisle offers to make lunch, and Esme tells me to head upstairs. I remember the rooms when Edward had shown me around. The first one is closed—Edward's, and I'm almost tempted to go in. The second—Vanessa's—is closed too, and I suspect locked. Keeping her memories is important, but treating her as if she's still alive isn't healthy for Esme. I feel a pang in my chest, the same one that happens every time I think about Vanessa. There can't be a punishment worse than passing by the room every day and seeing it as the reminder of their loss.

The closer I get to to Emmett's room, the heavier my feet feel. My schoolbag bounces uncomfortably against my hip. I run my hand through my hair, pushing the short strands behind my ears.

The door paint has been changed to red, and it stands out against the white walls, like a rebel.

I knock on the door, not spotting anyone around. Rosalie's head peeks from the restroom, her blonde hair wet and limp against her arm. Her eyebrows go up.

"Sorry—is Emmett here?"

She shakes her head in negative. "He had to overlook a delivery."

"Oh, okay. Thanks."

She nods, disappearing from view.

Well…mission unsuccessful. Emmett's one word replies to my texts are twisting my thoughts. My brain refuses to acknowledge that he may be busy and thus not replying.

Esme immediately takes my attention with her questions about Charlie. I'm just about to tell her of my plans to spend Thanksgivings with him when she asks me if I'll be coming over that Thursday. The question makes me gape at her for a few seconds. It's a very sweet gesture; it's her way of asking me to join in on another important family holiday and tradition. And this time, I don't feel as if I'm intruding if I say yes. However, I don't want to conform and then have to refuse depending on what Charlie decides, and it's a terrible feeling to give her a half-answer.

She pats my hand from the seat next to me. "I'll save you a seat anyway."

It's the first time I've seen a genuine, unstrained smile on Carlisle's face. He's not eating, content for just some juice as he leans his back against the steel counters. He even offered to make me a turkey sandwich.

Esme's fingers grab a little bit of my hair, assessing it.

"You look younger with this cut. I should go get something done too." Her expression is one of humor.

"I found a good place in the mall," a voice rings out from the second door of the kitchen. Rosalie makes her way down the remaining stairs and leans across the counter top from the opposite side. "We should all go."

Her eyes bore into my skin. She doesn't have an actual smile on her face, but it's lost the edge from the last time we were face to face. Her hair is pin-straight, hanging loosely down her back, almost reaching to her hips. Her invitation is directed to me, too.

"Oh, Bella, I like your look. It suits you."

This has certainly been a day of surprises.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading. Take another minute to leave me your thoughts? I didn't get to respond personally to the reviewers for the last chapter, but I read every review and smiled like crazy!<br>**

**Emmett is coming in next chapter-it'll be posted on Wednesday.  
><strong>

**So sorry about the delay! Full time employee and full time student = no free time.  
><strong>


	45. Chapter 45

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>My palms flatten against the softness of Edward's stomach, as his tongue remains insistent and exploring. His musky, calming scent swirls around us. He'd taken me along to run the errands that Esme had assigned to him. At least that was his initial plan. We'd never made it away from the side parking of Albertsons. He'd taken advantage of the empty lot to pull my lips to his and take me hostage in his arms.<p>

I can feel the shiver that moves down him from the cold, as my fingers pry his shirt free from the confines of his dress pants. The feel of his hard belly makes heat coil in my stomach. A sound breaks free from my throat when he presses his thighs and hips against mine. A sounding horn startles him to break free, his nose and cheeks and ears bright pink. His hair looks impossibly messier, strands sticking in every direction, and the front washing over his forehead like bangs.

The entire week had been a game of cat and mouse play. One of us would start something, but he'd be the one to pull away. It never failed to leave me with the need for more, but Edward had been cautious. It makes me regret pulling away during our movie night; if I hadn't, he wouldn't have a reason to be so careful. Perhaps it's not just me; he's mentioned otherwise about me being the only one who understood his situation. Maybe he needs something more before we can move on. Either way, I try not to let my frustration show on my face. Edward doesn't hide his strained smile and carefully adjusts his pants.

I look around and notice that thankfully, the parking lot is still scarcely full—a few cars scattered here and there which makes me a lot less embarrassed. The fluttering in my stomach doesn't leave, though.

"So, shopping?"

The smirk on his lips makes me push him back slightly. I rub my back; I didn't even notice the fact that the passenger side door handle had been pressing into my flesh. He grabs his beanie from the driver's side, tugging it down so it hangs adorably just above his eyes, leaving small strands of penny-colored hair to peek through.

Tonight's dinner had to be cancelled as Rosalie got called for a meeting in the evening, and Emmett had to supervise his construction of the gym. On Tuesday I'd thought that I'd make things right, that Emmett would give me the chance, but his sudden cancellation brings up doubts that perhaps we'd never go towards being friends the way we were. Things had changed too much…I'd changed too much for that.

The warmth of the store is welcoming, the smell of freshness and Pine-Sol prominent. Edward walks behind me, his chest brushing every few minutes. I clutch my phone in my hand tightly to stop myself from pressing back.

_Public place, we're in a public place…_

"Why are you buying the turkey already?"

He shrugs. I can't see the gesture, but I can feel it. "Esme's orders." He breaks away to grab a cart.

"Who makes the dinner?"

"Carlisle and I do. Rosalie plans to help."

"And Emmett?"

"He's going to try to finish the pies before the table is set while Esme watches over him."

I grin.

"You're coming, right?"

I twist my lips to one side. It's been a little over a week since I'd left Washington, and I talked to Charlie multiple times since then, but we hadn't come up with a plan. I didn't want to commit to going to the Cullen house just in case Charlie invites me or decides to fly over. As much as I don't want to disappoint Edward, this would be—metaphorically—Charlie and my first real Thanksgiving together.

I hurry to reply in case Edward takes my silence in the wrong way. "I don't know about my dad's plans yet."

He nods his head, turning to give me a quick grin, the same one that quirks one side of his lips higher than the other. "I'll save you a piece of pie anyway."

"From Emmett?"

"Yes, even if I have to wrestle him." His serious voice makes me laugh.

I watch as his nimble fingers grab at certain types of oranges.

"You'll have to do something in return, though."

"Oh?"

He purses his lips. "Remember I told you that I want to travel?" At my nod, he continues, "I was thinking of New York."

"Why New York?"

"Why not?" He counters with a grin, "it's a lively city that I've always wanted to see. I had plans to go there during the summer with Jasper, but the fire… And Bella, I want you to come with me."

His invitation is shocking. The tone of the conversation seems oddly too serious to be having while shopping, but then again, the main reason he's trying to keep my mind otherwise occupied is so that I don't feel Emmett's distance too much.

"When are you planning to go?"

"Whenever our schedules will allow. Rosalie and Emmett would be at the house to keep Mom company while Carlisle's at work. I don't need an answer yet; just think about it."

I can definitely do that. My mind catches the name 'Jasper'. It's the second time I've heard it from Edward.

"Jasper…?"

"My best friend, at least he used to be. I haven't talked to him since I graduated."

"Did you part on bad terms?"

A thoughtful look crosses his face. "No, not really. I changed a lot when I went back; I guess I saw my priorities differently. I kept thinking that if I'd seen things from Carlisle's perspective, maybe I wouldn't have been so bitter. I concentrated on studying so much, I'd pushed away everyone—well, everyone except Jasper. He didn't give up on me until we graduated. He went to New York and I stayed. I just didn't stay in touch with him."

He assesses the look on my face. "I know that I can't change the past, but I shouldn't have been so self-absorbed. That's not how Mom raised me."

"Are you going to go meet him?"

"I don't know."

We're so similar. I knew that before, but more information about his past has solidified that. He'd shut out everyone… and now he's _lonely_. At least I had my friendship with Emmett, but Edward had completely shut himself off. It couldn't be healthy to keep all his feelings bottled up inside, with no one to talk to. The nagging voice at the back of my head reminds me that I don't have any type of communication with anyone outside of the Cullens, either, and how unhealthy that is.

Perspective changes everything…

His expression looks somber again; it's only been a few minutes since I've seen his smile, but I miss it already. The happiness and the way his face lights up with a soft grin can make anyone around him feel better.

I change the direction of our conversation. I already know everything I need to about Vanessa and Esme; it's a chapter we've closed already. "How did you get into Medical School right after High School?"

"I finished my two years of general education during junior and senior year, taking classes in the evenings. And I got pre-admitted." He shrugs like it isn't a big deal.

"You were so driven."

"I had to be. I was the son of a cherished doctor."

"You had to follow in his footsteps?"

He shakes his head. "No. He allowed me freedom to study in whichever field I wanted, but I'd always looked up to him in a way. I saw the look in his face every time he came home. There were some aspects of the day that would give him a jaded look, but the vibrant and hopeful expression in his eyes was more prominent. He taught me that despite all the bad, the good can overcome it. That seeing a patient smile after making it through the rough, makes everything worth it."

I muse over his words in my head as he finishes Esme's list. As we're both putting away the food in his trunk, I ask him to drop me off at Emmett's gym. Edward's words have made me realize that even if times change and people change, we can easily adjust to those changes. It's what relationships and friendships are made of; learning to love the new things about someone and encouraging them to move forward instead of letting the past dominant in the present. I refuse to lose Emmett's friendship.

I can see Edward's momentary hesitance, but maybe he sees the determination on my face.

We drive North on the 94; the gym is further away from my house than Edward's. It's located between West Ridge and Edgewater, in a little plaza which supports the lone building. The abundance of parking is filled with pickup trucks and vans, and Emmett's Range Rover stands out like a sore thumb.

Edward offers to wait, but I tell him to go. If he's here, I'd feel like I have a safety net that I can run to if Emmett doesn't want to talk to me. He still stays until I make it to the door and get inside.

The workers glance up as I peek my head through. Emmett is nowhere to be seen, and one of the guys working to secure the wide, round reception desk points me to a thick paper wall at the end of the spacious room. I thank them, careful of the painting equipment, and keeping my fingers wrapped tightly at the strap of my bag that swings on my hip with each in step. The space is wider and longer inside than it looked from the outside. My heart thumps loudly in my chest.

I find Emmett, standing behind a temporary wall, carrying boxes that make his biceps flex in the tank he is wearing.

"So this is going to be the locker room?"

He freezes instantly, and when he turns, his eyes are wide.

"Bells, what're you doing here?"

The determination that was in me earlier is now lost. The nerves are back, and I can't help but wriggle my hands together in front of me.

His eyes don't miss the action, and I see them soften.

"I just came by to see you."

"It's a bad time; I have lots to do…" He glances around as if to emphasize his point. His workers are starting to notice and are being none too discreet in their staring.

"I can help." I take off my bag, laying it by the side of the makeshift wall, pulling my hoodie down at the hems and pulling it up above my elbows.

He steps closer to me. "It's okay, I have it under control. Who dropped you off here?"

"Edward."

"Is he still out there? Go home with him; I'll talk to you later."

"He's left already."

He curses under his breath. He grabs my bag before taking my elbow in his hand, gently pulling me out the door after murmuring for the rest to continue their work.

"Emmett." I tug him to a stop near his car. "I get it; I know you're mad at me, and I'm really, really sorry about that. I should've noticed it sooner, but I couldn't. I've never had to worry about my thoughts and what I did, and that doesn't justify anything I've done, but you have to believe when I say that I didn't do it intentionally or maliciously. I just don't know how to balance everything in my life right now. I've never had friends or people I cared about or talked to much every day, and now I have you and Edward and Alice and Esme. I can't help it; I'm a socially awkward person. I'm learning, slowly. I promise to—"

"I'm not mad, Bells. I'm not even hurt anymore. It's a good thing that you're becoming the person you've always held at bay." His brows come together. "It's just a little…difficult to see this side of you; I never have. And I'm sorry for being such a jerk." He wraps one arm around my shoulder to hug me to him.

"So show me your new place?"

He takes a step back, letting his fisted hands rest on his hips. "It'll be a while before it's all finished."

"Show me around anyway?"

A small smile touches his lips. He mentions me to step next to him with a small motion of his head. We ignore the curious looks from the workers as he shows me around. The entrance would have another door on the inside, so that the reception area curves inward in a half oval shape. Next to it would be the machine set up, and he tells me about the rooms for each individual activity that will be offered. He's planning on putting mirrors on the inside, across every inch of wall. He opens the balcony, leading me with a hand on my back.

The first thing I notice is the sprinkling of cold water. It smells fresh and wet and like chlorine. The pool has been dug already, in a way that offers the view of Lake Michigan. To the left is Loyola University, and the soft hum of water surrounds it all.

I look at him with wide eyes. "It seems like you're planning to freeze everyone."

He laughs. "There's an indoor pool, too; it can be heated."

"It looks great."

After a brief silence, he asks, "So how about that help now?"

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading. Take another minute to leave me your thoughts? I have recently fried my laptop (today)and until it works or until I can afford a new one, I can't say when the next chapter will be up.<br>**


	46. Chapter 46

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>As Thanksgiving approaches, the more hectic it gets. Students buzz with excitement about their plans, and the teachers sigh as they look at the pile of essays that they've assigned.<p>

The quiet girl in my English class turns out to be very talkative, just shy. I'd gone out of my way to talk to her after the revelation of having no friends, and she'd gone out of her way to be more extroverted towards me.

"There's this small area in Salt Lake City where you can rent a cabin. They have hiking trails and the lake is warm and the water clear, and they give you a boat along with your rental, and…"

I comment appropriately, images of my own variation flashing through my mind at Angela's descriptions. She tells me how her parents take their entire family to a different part of the country on every holiday.

"It's the only chance we all have to be together ever since I moved here and my brothers left for Los Angeles."

"Do you miss your parents?"

"I do, every day; more when I'm cooking." She makes a silly face. "I hate cooking, especially when it's just for one person.

I can actually relate to her. I miss Charlie. And I hate cooking for just one.

"You're lucky your parents live here," she comments lightly.

My brows furrow. "My dad lives in Washington."

She looks equally confused. "But…I usually see you with a woman. I have a class on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday just a door down from Professor Aro's. I just assumed that she—and the guy that picks her up—are your parents."

"Oh, Esme… She's a friend, not my mom."

She blushes delicately. "Sorry for assuming…"

"It's okay." I smile so she relaxes again.

"What about that guy that picks you up? Is he a boyfriend?" Her voice goes low at the last word.

I'm still spinning from her calling Esme my mother to really worry about the term. I nod to her; it feels awkward to say that word describing Edward. It feels inadequate. He's more…

She leans closer to me, whispering, "He's hot."

I can't help but laugh along with her. _I think so too, Angela; I think so too…_

The weather has been so unpredictable lately. When I walked this morning, the sun was shining on the frozen water that appeared on the leaves of the plants, but as I step out of the Institute now, there are hints of clouds, and the wind is at a high point. The bit of snow still leftover from the week, reminds me again and again of my disability to travel, due to the lack of a car. I should look into the used cars on Penny-Saver local.

The walk home would allow me some time to talk to Charlie again. As soon as I would set foot inside, I wouldn't be able to do much except paint today. Now would be my only chance to finalize my plans with him.

He doesn't pick up his phone on the first try, but he calls back immediately.

"Hi, Bells." His voice is gruff, so familiar and home-life.

"Hi, Dad; are you free?"

"Yup. I'm taking my break right now."

"Have you eaten?"

"Sue packed me a salad. She says to lay off the fast food if I want to stuff myself for Thanksgiving."

My chest tightens a little. He's being taken care of, and he sounds happy, even if a little pouty at having to leave behind his favorite oily food at the diner for these next few days. "So you won't be able to come?"

"No. I'll have to clock in for majority of the day. I'm sorry, Bells. I really wanted to come see you and your place." It feels strange to be let down like this, even if I can understand the reason. I'd already picked out the places I wanted to show him, and I'd done extensive online research on which nearby restaurants served his favorite kind of steak.

"Do you want to fly over?"

"I'll see if I can get a ticket."

"They'll be expensive, for sure. Do you need me to send you the fare?" His voice sounds small. It's easy to know he has been looking forward to seeing me, too.

I try to ease the situation. "You remember Esme? She invited me over for dinner."

"I didn't know you were that close."

"I've known her older son since I was eleven. And I met her younger son just recently though her."

"Really?" Suspicion is laced in his tone. "He's also a friend?"

"Yeah…" I bite my lip. I should tell him now. I'd promised that I would include him in my life more. "We're sort of dating."

"Sort of?"

"Well, dating."

"Since?"

I shrug, aware he can't see me.

At my silence, he continues. "How old is he?"

"Twenty-six."

"A lot older than you, Bella."

"Not really."

"What does he do?"

"He's a doctor. He works in the Pediatrics department." The conversation has shifted and feels much more like an interrogation than anything else. Charlie's loyalty to his duty and the officers who work under him shows, not only through the fact that he's taking over their shifts so they could be with their families, but also the way he thoroughly questions every subject. Or it could just be because it's me and he's being protective.

Charlie grunts. "Maybe I need to take an emergency leave."

I roll my eyes, fetching the house keys from my bag.

I turn the heat on as soon as I get inside. Off go the shoes and my scarf. I can't wait to change into my large hoodie; it's comfortable and perfect to use while working with paint.

I assure Charlie that Edward is amazing, and he hangs up after begrudgingly taking my word for it, agreeing to leave judgment behind before meeting him. The idea—strangely—doesn't make me sweat.

I change and throw my hair into a messy bun, tying on my bandana to keep the short strands of bangs from falling over my eyes.

The painting in my bedroom, living room, and Alice's room is done, but the kitchen remains untouched, mostly because I still want a little piece of the original left. There's a wide white, thick paper in front of me, taped to the wall, and Renee's painting stands proud and tall next to it.

It's one of her real-life-model portraits. An elegant swan perched on a rock as if ready to soar. The white paint left with thick lines, which expertly help to show ruffles of feathers, and the gentle curve of the animal's long neck. It resembled her, as if she'd grown and she was leaving with Phil to go to Chicago as the bird had her wings spread. She'd found this little inspiration somewhere along a pond that circled a park's playground.

I try to imitate the exact painting, hoping to find some sort of peace, or a connection with the woman I'd wanted nothing to do with. Watching the way Edward sacrificed his own desires to protect Esme, and Rosalie's behavior towards the family and me. And Carlisle's hurried actions as well as Emmett coming back, all signified something to me. Edward's innocence and childhood that were left behind during the fire, Carlisle trying to protect his family, Rosalie helping him try to mend that mistake, and Emmett coming back to acknowledge his family problems and work through them. If they can do it, so can I.

It's an impulsive decision to 'connect' with Renee, but maybe it's because of Angela's comment about Esme being my mother, which set it off.

As I let the brush stroke white lines, then mixing them with grey instead of leaving them thick as Renee had done, I don't let it bother me. I'd always preferred Renee's perfection, but there's a voice at the back of my head that tells me that I'm only competing with myself, and nobody else. My drawings are how I am; they're my identity in a way. They're also a window from the inside of me; they show how I perceive the world, and at the same time, they have given me a new meaning to discover.

I can feel my breathing getting deeper, and my chest getting lighter. I feel as if the weight that I've been carrying on my shoulders has started to leave me.

And by the time I'm done with the bird, it's late and my stomach is growling at the lack of food, but I've found the reason behind my drawings. I can finally give an answer to Rosalie about her question of why I draw. I draw to see that while the world is full of problems and corruption, I can make my own little world within the drawings, with characters that can take me to a different place.

I've also learned that it's okay to be different. I don't have to be the same as Renee…that I won't be the same as my mother.

And I'm ready to give my answer to Edward.

* * *

><p><strong>Leave me your thoughts. :)<br>**


	47. Chapter 47

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>I chew on my fingernail, biting at it until it hurts. The warmth of the apple pie on my lap seeps through my leggings, and Edward watches me calmly.<p>

He pulls my hand away from my mouth. "You've been here before." He moves his eyebrows so that his eyes look impossibly wider, the green in them shining hypnotically. He jogs from the driver's side to mine, opening my door to help with the pie, apple strudel, and the two bottles of wine he'd gotten before picking me up. He balances them neatly as I step out and then take back some of the boxes to help him. It's not so much the nervousness of stepping inside of the Cullen house with every member waiting for us, as is the conversation that I've practiced in my head that I plan to have with Carlisle.

Angela's statement assuming that Esme was my mother made our relationship seem like that much more. Since that day I'd gathered the courage and decided to talk to Carlisle. I don't want to ruin the mood at the table as soon as I step in, so it would have to wait until after, and I hope that I don't lose the motivation that I have acquired and chicken out.

Rosalie plays the part of a host graciously, thanking me for bringing out the sweets that I have. She's dressed in a modest red dress that ends just at her knees, and is wearing black patent heels. I have to tilt my head a little to look at her in the eyes. Her hair is curled again in ringlets, but pulled back over her right shoulder. She looks like she belongs on the red carpet.

I had gone shopping earlier for an appropriate dress, but decided that I felt more comfortable in a long, formal sweater I'd gotten along with leggings, and boots. The outfit makes me feel as if I really do belong here.

Edward hurries me in. Carlisle and Emmett finish helping Esme arrange the table, and when they all gather their seats, the women are sitting on one side of table, while the men are on the other.

Thanksgiving back home consisted of mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and stuffed turkey that Charlie and I would never finish, and he'd be taking the leftovers to work for at least three to four days. On this table, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, ham, and biscuits sit decorating the white tablecloth along with some boiled vegetables on both sides of the turkey, which sits proud in the middle.

I don't know what to expect, if they will be saying a prayer or going around the table giving thanks to people. I try to analyze the scenarios that could happen and try to keep a name or two at the tip of my tongue just in case.

But Carlisle starts with a small note of gratitude that speaks for his family and the sound of silverware clanking against plates reaches my ears. Esme is sitting next to me, telling me about how she wants to paint the inside of the house differently, too. Carlisle catches a sentence or two and I see him smile gently until Rosalie catches his attention.

I feel a light tap at the side of my boot, and look up to see Edward's questioning gaze.

"Why aren't you eating? The food isn't as bad as last year." He grins. There's nothing better than his crooked grin; it makes him look much younger than he is.

Rosalie turns to glare at him briefly, her blonde curls bouncing.

I try to will away the butterflies and eat, because the food really is delicious, and it's easy to tell that they'd all spent the entire day preparing. The small gathering is a buzz of voices, and the coziness feels like _home_.

It makes me wonder if the Cullens celebrate all their holidays with such enthusiasm, and formal-wear. Edward's a sight for sore eyes with a black vest over his button down. I'd seen him plenty of time in his work shirts, but the vest accentuates his broad shoulders. And the muscles; it shows that he takes care of himself. When he'd picked me up and my jaw dropped when I first saw him, he'd joked it off as being a tradition, even if out of style, and I could see a pink blush at the tips of his ears. I had almost suggested we skip dinner altogether.

The atmosphere is light, the opposite of Cullen family night. After the dinner is finished, everyone finds their way into the living room, bringing out video games at Emmett's insistence. As Carlisle slips away, I follow him. He's barely down the hallway before I intercept. Clearly the shock is displayed on his face before he turns it into a tiny, welcoming smile.

"I wanted to talk to you about Vanes—"

"Would you mind very much moving this into my study?"

His eyes are trained behind me anxiously, as if Esme would hear anytime. I should've thought to be more discreet in the middle of the hallway.

He leads the way after my nod, opening the door so that I can step inside first. There's a large mahogany desk in the middle of the room, and the light from the street outside forms sort of an oval circle around the large chair behind the table. There are medical journals and books covering the left wall, and the right has stacks of albums. There's a pink frilly one on top of the shelves, which looks like it's recently been looked through. I don't need to ask to know it is Vanessa's.

He wordlessly pulls out a chair for me, and sits beside me rather than opposite.

He runs a hand over his face. "I figured you'd want to talk about her at some point."

"Why do you still keep that bedroom?"

He struggles for an answer. "To keep Esme happy."

"Why do you pretend that Vanessa is still alive?"

"For Esme."

"Don't you want her to heal?"

He freezes. He's sitting close enough for me to see how stressed he is, how worried, and how dull his eyes are. They show me that I can't even imagine the hell he's been through.

"I want her to be happy. If I have to put up the pretense that my daughter is still alive despite her being dead for seven years, I will. You weren't there to see her when Vanessa died; you weren't there to hear the screams, hear the sobbing every minute, every day… She won't be able to handle the truth." He shakes his head, as if to dispel the thoughts out of his head.

I scoot closer to the edge of the chair, and my fingers twitch to put them on his hand in comfort.

"She needs help."

His eyes look panicked. "You have to know that not every psychiatrist will turn out like your friend… I can print out a list from online that shows what the doctor's specialty is. And some even allow you to sit and talk with them about the process and what's bothering you before the session actually begin. This way Esme can see if she feels comfortable with them before committing to anything." I bite my bottom lip to stop the rambling, before taking a deep breath.

"You can't let her go on like this."

He stays silent, his eyes trained on his folded hands.

"You have to help her move on. These lies are taking a toll on you, and your family."

He sighs, mashing his eyes shut together tightly.

"I'll think about it," he mumbles in a strained voice, not looking at me. I can see the turmoil his thoughts are in, and I take his words as a gentle dismissal, however, I pray that he makes the right decision, and fast.

* * *

><p><strong>Leave me your thoughts. :)<br>**


	48. Chapter 48 -- Carlisle

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Two pink lines. His hands shake, and his breath is coming out in silent pants. The only thing he can register is a part of his mind screaming at him that it's not his. There isn't a way that it can be. Esme's been too angry with him, fighting at the littlest of things, and she'd made him sleep on the foot couch in their room. He hadn't touched her in months.<p>

He can do nothing but stare in shock at the white stick in his hand.

Esme is worse off than him; she's a sobbing mess on the floor, one arm around the toilet as she lays her forehead against the seat. It's the first time he'd ever seen his wife in such a messy state. She lets out a loud cry, her shoulders shaking with heaves and sobs.

His hands are itching to touch her, to comfort her, yet they won't move away from the stick. They're frozen, as are his feet. Every time he thinks of comforting her, he can only see _his _hands on her, moving on her.

It's not his.

His chest is starting to hurt, and it's getting hard to breathe, too. The spacious bathroom seems so confining now, and he takes one last look at Esme before the stick drops onto the carpet and he bolts out of the room. His feet pound against the floor, the stairs, as he finds himself in the garage.

He hovers over his car, his palms against the hood. His stomach muscles are pulling.

He would've never thought Esme had been cheating on him. He thought it was just the stress of things and her psychiatrist visits that made her distance herself, but the fact that she'd been seeing another man...

It's not his.

He dry heaves, his throat constricting painfully. He can smell her perfume swirling in the air around him. He can _feel _her presence as if she were right next to him. And for the first time in his life, that feeling isn't soothing at all. It's choking instead.

He eyes the Blue Label whiskey bottle on the cabinet at the side. He glances back into the house before storming over to grab it.

As mad and hurt as he is, he wouldn't leave Esme home alone at a time like this. He fires off a text to Edward, telling him to get home. And then he leaves, the bottle sitting in the passenger seat.

It's not his.

.

.

The bitterness of the alcohol makes him wince, yet he still gulps the rest of the whiskey in the foam cup down. He wanted to get out of the house, but after driving for twenty minutes, he found himself lost as to where to go. He ended up stumbling into his office, the bottle hidden inside the coat jacket he'd hung in the crook of his arm.

His actions spoke more to him about his life than anything else: the fact that he didn't trust any of the friends he'd play golf with and that he ended up at his office at the last moment.

Was it his fault? Did he really throw himself so much into his work that Esme had to seek companionship in someone else?

Shame.

Regret

Guilt.

He should've been home more often. He shouldn't have thought so much about securing sufficient funds for his sons and his retirement, that he would forget about the present.

The lock turns, and he looks up just as Eleazar steps in, putting his duplicate key into his pocket.

"Carlisle," he gapes, seeing his friend falling apart in front of his eyes.

Tanya walks in after him, hurrying to close and lock his office door to prevent any prying eyes to witness.

She puts down Esme's blood test report on the table, helping her father upright Carlisle. She grabs the alcohol out of his hands, putting it far away from his reach.

"What's wrong with you?" Eleazar scowls. He pushes Carlisle back against his chair to stop the drunk doctor from falling.

"She's pregnant…she's pregnant," Carlisle mumbles out, his eyelids drooping slightly.

Tanya and Eleazar pause, exchanging looks.

"We know." He hesitates slightly. He knows they've been fighting. Everyone knows. "I thought you two were going to go for counseling."

Carlisle shakes his head, having trouble forming an appropriate reply. "Not mine…it's not mine."

"You're just drunk," Tanya coos, her eyes are worried.

"No, no," he muttered. "Not mine."

He doesn't know why he did it; he'd known Eleazar and his family since they were kids, and he would trust them with anything relating to him, but he'd never told them anything before without running it through Esme whenever it involved her as well.

Esme. _His _hands all over her.

He feels sick again.

He slides out of his chair, leaning his forehead against the cool metal of his desk. Her presence lingers here, too, as she picked out most of the pictures and furniture for his office. He's too tired to move again, to drive aimlessly again. And drunk. And he's too drunk to drive.

"Come on, Daddy C. Let's get you home," Tanya whispers to him reassuringly. Eleazar helps him up, leading him, not once complaining nor looking exasperated as he stumbles repeatedly. Both father and daughter take him through the Employee exit, no one is there at this time of the night. The night staff's either working on their hours, or catching a few minutes of sleep in the lounge.

He doesn't want to go home right now. He'd have to answer Edward about why he left, and he wants to question Esme, but not in front of Edward. He doesn't have the words to the answers his sixteen year old son wants right now.

Eleazar drives him to his house, while Tanya sits in the back, making a call to the hospital about her father's abrupt leave, as well as her volunteer hour ending. She doesn't utter a word.

When they reach home, she makes him some sweet tea, leaving it on the table before moving towards her room, offering them privacy.

Eleazar questions him, and Carlisle finally relents. He tells him everything, sure that most of the things he's said haven't made any sense at all; however, he keeps talking. And he doesn't stop until tears are leaking out of his eyes.

He doesn't notice the judgment in Eleazar's eyes.

.

.

He sought privacy legal help to disbar Dr. Alistair, Esme's psychiatrist, but that was foiled. Alistair provided reports and recorded tapes as proof that she wasn't in the right mental health. Carlisle failed to protect his wife, as well as any other woman that Alistair could manipulate. He was thoroughly defeated.

She'll be showing soon. He has to think of something, because if Eleazar could judge his wife, the rest their acquaintances would be relentless. All the families they associate with have known him and his parents for decades; Esme's the one who married into the family. And they all knew the way Esme publicly fought with him; they would never believe it was his child. They would chew her up alive if they found out the truth.

He'd spent lots of sleepless nights thinking of just this. He finishes off his scotch in one gulp, letting the glass slam down on the glass table. His home office door opens, but he doesn't look up. He doesn't react at all.

A hand swipes at the bottle. His red eyes look up at the angry face of his youngest son.

"Why are you doing this?"

Carlisle coughs out a laugh. Edward hasn't ever been one for stalling, nor beating around the bush.

"Do you have another suggestion?"

He ignores it. "You're hurting yourself and Mom like this. If you don't want to be around her, why don't you move out?"

This time, Carlisle ignores the question.

Edward slams a hand down on the desk, causing a loud thud to sound around the room. "Or better yet, why don't you tell her you don't want her around and we'll leave you be?"

"You two aren't going anywhere!"

"Then stop treating us like this, because I'm close to putting her in the car and driving off to fuck knows where!"

"Don't you dare, Edward," Carlisle's voice is low, yet oh, so threatening, but Edward doesn't back off.

"I just want to know why."

"Because every time I look at your mother I see someone else's hands on her. You don't think I feel pain when I see her crying? Don't you think I want to comfort her? I _love_ her, Edward. I want to help, but I can't. Not yet. This is the only way I know I can spend my nights under this roof." He nods towards the liquor in his son's hand.

"Dad…"

"You won't understand, son. You won't. Just let it be. Give me time and I'll make things right."

.

.

"No," Emmett thundered. His face is red; his eyes are narrowed into slits as his mind registers what his father wants him to do.

"Emmett, please." Carlisle's heart is thudding loudly in his chest. He shouldn't be doing this; it's not right to make Emmett take the blame, yet there's no other way they can explain a baby coming into the Cullen family without suspicion being raised.

"Even if I say yes, how're you going to keep Mom's pregnancy a secret? Are you going to hide her somewhere so you can keep living your precious life?" He growls out.

"I'm only thinking what's best for her."

"No, you're only thinking about what best's for _you_! I refuse to help you in this."

The door slams after Emmett, and Carlisle rubs his hands over his face. It's hopeless. He'd thought if Emmett helped him, it would be a completely believable charade. Emmett's not so discreet sexual lifestyle had made its way known to his circle. It began when Irina had made a huge deal about Emmett not treating him as a girlfriend, but rather a prostitute. Everyone would believe it…

He never thought that his eldest son would leave the house because of the pressure he'd put on his shoulders. But then again, he shouldn't have been surprised. Only few months shy of his eighteenth birthday, Carlisle let him be. He wouldn't drag him kicking and screaming into his scheme.

He lost another important person in his life.

He didn't know he'd love another when he would ask Edward to sacrifice his life, just to help in his insane idea.

.

.

Still.

It's—no—_she's_ so still.

He couldn't look at her face as she lay in his arms, so small, so light. She's wrapped tightly into a tiny bundle, her soft breathing the only sound. His eyes look at the bronze hair on her head, and he sees this as a sign, that in some way, telling him he wasn't too wrong to have Edward pretend to be the father.

It hadn't been through a malicious thought; it had been the only thing he could think of, and before he realized just how much it would impact Edward, it had been too late, and the nurses at his work had found out. No one raised a question when he'd tell them Esme was taking care of the girl at home and couldn't attend any of the hospital functions. His lies came so easy to him.

Lying became a second nature. His eye no longer twitched when he mentioned the baby coming to his house was his grandchild.

She lets out a soft sound, and from his peripheral vision, he could briefly see her opening her eyes. His eyes move to stare into her green ones.

Carlisle's chest tightens, but not with hurt, for the first time in the last few months. Now that he had looked at her—really, really looked at her—he couldn't hold her. He passes her quickly to his son, stepping back to lean against the wall.

He can't find the courage to look into Edward's disappointed, dull eyes, either.

He put that look in those eyes.

.

.

Bella Swan. The girl with the tattooed sleeve. The girl with the small smile. The girl who walks with her head down.

She reminds him so much of Esme, yet so different. He doesn't like it at all. Esme likes her too much after one meeting, _so_ much that she'd shown Bella a picture of Vanessa. He doesn't like that at all, either.

He could see the questions dancing on Bella's face. The best would be to keep the two of them distanced. If Bella found out the truth, she could ruin his family, shatter Esme from the protective bubble that took him years to form.

He wouldn't let her hurt his family.

He just wouldn't.

.

.

Bella Swan. The girl that made Edward smile again. The girl that left strawberry scent all over the couch. The girl that stopped Esme from mentioning Vanessa too many times.

She's observant, he notices, but not observant at all. She looks, but she doesn't see. There's a jaded look in her eyes, as if she's judging things she doesn't understand, and understands things that others don't.

The only thing he cares about right now is that she's helping his family. He can be cynical later. Right now, he needs her, just as she needs his family.

He can tell.

* * *

><p><strong>This was the outtake for Christmas Toys for Tots.<br>**

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	49. Chapter 49

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**BabyPups Whitlock used her experience to help me with Alice's evaluation process. **

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>The days that feel like a heavy weight on the shoulders, drift by slowly. The days that are full of smiles and happiness pass by as if they were just minutes. And the one day that we dread coming closer arrives even sooner, without a knock of warning.<p>

I expected Thanksgiving to overwhelm me; at least the communication I had with Carlisle, but nothing came as of. He's still being civil, going out of his way to talk to me the few moments that we had seen each other after school.

Edward knows about our talk, of course. I'd told him right as he drove me home that night. He'd looked at me in a different way, almost as if in awe. Something had shifted that night, because he'd hazardously parked on the sidewalk just outside of my house and dragged me inside. We soon found ourselves in disheveled clothes, in a panting and awkward mess of over worked hormones.

And he had yet to touch me anywhere below the top edges of my jeans and above my ribcage. I could've sworn he'd been doing it on purpose. It almost made me nervous in my own skin, except for the fact that he'd slept over…in my bed…with me. I'd been conscious of how close he'd been to me, how the length of his lean body had pressed against mine in all the right angles. I'd been hyper aware of his warm breath fanning across the back of my neck.

…Just as I am aware of the hand that's resting on my knees, fingers drumming across the cap. However, it's not desire that's making my heart beat fast, but anxiety. Lauren—Alice's nurse—is sitting behind her desk, shuffling through papers to look for the right one. As she had promised me on the last visit, she'd sent in my request to oversee Alice at my house than here.

I haven't been to Alice's room yet, and we've been here for over twenty minutes already. It hasn't helped my nerves in any way. I'm glad that Edward had agreed to come with me; if it hadn't been for him and his hand on my leg, I would've been pacing or pulling at my hair. It was an impulsive decision to ask him to accompany me, but just as I'd shifted more into his life at Thanksgiving, I was giving him a chance to do the same.

All Lauren has to do is look up at me, and I shoot out of my seat, standing in front of her in just seconds.

"Her file is still in the process of being reviewed, but since her cognitive assessment and psychological tests have come back NORMAL, the request is being passed through the hospital's neuropsychologist. He, or a psychometric, will conduct an interview, after which you'll be informed of their decision." She looks up at me, her eyes a little misty. "It looks good though, Bella. The chances are high that she'll be able to leave here after her birthday."

I sag back, finding Edward's supporting hand on my hip the only sense of reality. I want to jump and clap and cry simultaneously. I can't even form my words straight, let alone think.

I feel Edward's hand slide into mine and squeeze. His voice is comforting. "What kind of interview?"

"It'll just be questions and a few exercises to evaluate the cognitive and behavioral strengths and weaknesses. They'll schedule weekly therapy sessions, which will be a little like parole; if you miss them, Alice will have to stay here for a certain amount of time to make up for it. I can't say much without the results, but the chances _are_ high."

"Can we see her?" My leg twitches.

Lauren nods, making a call before she gets up from her chair, and gestures us forward. She's walking entirely too slow for me, and I would've gone ahead of her had it not been for Edward's hand.

"She's not been paralyzed today, Bella. I want you to be cautious when you entire the room; no sudden movement that could startle her, or any type of news that would excite her. The neuropsychologist will be watching to observe her, and her capability to talk and respond with you will be counted n her evaluation."

We finally reach her room, and I notice the blinds are drawn, but the room is lit. I can see Alice sitting on the bed, her eyes on her hands and her feet moving ever so slightly. They barely reach halfway to the floor. I watch as she pats her hair down and her white dress-like gown.

"I think I should wait outside for now," Edward whispers in my ear. "She's being watched, and I'm a complete stranger."

I don't have time to think of a reply as Lauren ushers me inside, staying in the room with us. Alice finally looks up.

The vacant look in her eyes is gone, and I can see her arms twitch. This is the first time I've seen her look so…real. I want to reach out and hug her to see if this isn't just my mind playing a trick on me. Lauren's hand on my arm stalls me, and I remember her words.

"May I?" I lift my chin towards the plastic chair by the bed.

A hint of a smile passes across Alice's lips and she nods, her short bob almost fluttering.

There are so many things I want to talk to her about, so many things I want to ask her, but my mind is working overtime; I find it hard to grasp just one thought.

"My phone broke." Her fingers pick at the sheets under her. Her voice sounds familiar, yet foreign. It's a pitch higher than I remember, almost as if child-like.

"I'll get you a new one."

"Which one?"

"Which one would you like?"

"Can we go shopping together? I can pick one out then."

"Of course, and we can buy some clothes, too."

"Can I choose for you?"

I nod at her, and her smile lifts her cheeks up a little, her eyes crinkling. This is the girl I remember; trying to find solace in playing dress up and trying to hide her woes in small things. I can see the girl who grew up too fast because of her parents' strictness, whose one act of rebellion caused her to lose her childhood. She looks older than she does when she's lying on her bed. I'd failed to notice the bruise-like shadows underneath her eyes, or maybe they've developed just in the last few days.

"What color did you pick for my room?"

"Purple."

"Purple…" she draws it out slowly. "I like purple. And the bed?"

"What color do you want it to be?"

"White."

I hesitate briefly. "I'll get white, then."

"Who's that?" She doesn't need to point out who she's talking about.

"Edward."

"Is he nice?"

"Very."

"Does he live with you now?"

I shake my head. "No, he lives with his parents."

"Will he like me?"

"Without a doubt."

"Can I meet him?"

My eyes shift to Lauren. She subtly shakes her head.

"Maybe next time?"

Alice shrugs a little. Her white gown is too big for her tiny shoulders; it's practically swallowing her. "Can I go home with you today?"

I slowly reach out, letting my fingers grasp hers. She doesn't startle. "I can't sign for you today. But Lauren tells me that you might be able to come home next month."

"Will you bring me a cake for my birthday?"

"Chocolate, right?" She nods.

"With whipped cream; I don't like icing; it's too sweet."

"And Oreo cookies on it," I finish for her.

She grins, her eyes shutting close. The serene expression on her face makes me feel as if things have been set right. As if all the problems are resolvable, and can be moved past.

And Edward standing outside waiting for me; it brings a whole new revelation. I'd grown to become dependent on him enough to bring him to meet Alice—one of the most important persons in my life. All the feelings that had been pulling at my heartstrings since the he'd told me about Vanessa are suddenly so clear.

I can't _wait_ for New York.

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews make my day! Leave me your thoughts.<strong>


	50. December

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Pep talks in front of mirrors don't help at all, since I keep seeing all the things I hate, such as the dark freckles that are scattered over my hip, and that scar from a bike fall on my thigh that refuses to go away. The chill brings up goose bumps on my skin, leaving the surface to look noticeably bumpy.<p>

Not attractive at all. I wince. So much for confidence…

I've never had to worry about how I looked before. With Alec, it had been a few nights of letting go of the world and losing ourselves in the physical aspect, to never speak of it in the morning. But this…this would be nothing like that. And having a bit of confidence would make my plan a little harder for Edward to resist.

I grab a plain white shirt, pulling it over my head, and blow away the bangs from the front of my eyes. I grab a pair of black jeans, the only one not needing a wash. I'd neglected all the chores in favor of painting.

November had faded away with hope and happiness…and frustration, because now that Edward was ready to move things up, I wanted to wait. I couldn't tell him the reason for that decision, but I'm sure my actions will.

We had put our chagrin away for the past few weeks, and a little more time wouldn't combust us. It wouldn't be that much of a wait. The Institute lets out for the winter break in a week, and Edward had his request for a vacation approved. It would be perfect, as Alice's birthday lands on the 21st.

Charlie didn't like the fact that I'd be traveling to a place of Edward's choice—something he'd kept mum on—but he couldn't complain too much; I had a feeling that he'd probably checked Edward's record. He had mentioned about coming over to have dinner with "the boyfriend" sometime soon. It didn't make me as nervous as it probably should have; Edward can handle his own.

I pull my hair into a ponytail, letting the bangs fall over my forehead. It makes me look young…and conceals the eyebrows that I'd neglected. I'd gotten ready just in time as Rosalie honks from outside.

By the time I have my hoodie in my hand and I lock up, Rosalie has gotten out of the driver's seat, moving the backrest up so that I can slip in. The car suits her; the red standing out glaringly, bringing attention to the BMW sign sitting on the edge of the hood. It's like her: bold and unrelenting.

Esme reaches back to squeeze one of my hands in greeting. She looks calm, serene, and it doesn't seem like Carlisle has talked to her about our discussion. I can only hope that he figures out a solution for the mess the family is in.

Rosalie is bopping her head to a song by Imagine Dragons, something that sounds a little like heavy rock, but the volume is so low, it's practically a hum, but I can still see her lips wording the lyrics. Sights and buildings and streets all white and wet buzz by, as she flies across on the freeway. She's going West of Chicago, the place I'd never traveled to before. It all seems too new, so foreign, which reminds me again of how big one city can be, let alone an entire world.

And in this big city, I'd formed a little world of my own.

Esme wounds her arm around mine as Rosalie leads us through the glass doors at the entrance of the mall. It's three stories high, each filled with huge crowds. The smell of food hits me heavily; the aroma of bread and cheese and pizza…and that distinctive smell of Subway; my stomach growls.

"You didn't have lunch?" Esme gives me a knowing look. "You two should go while I get my hair done."

"I don't mind waiting."

"Nonsense, you've both already gotten a haircut."

Rosalie glances at me over Esme's head, her eyebrows lifting up as she shrugs.

"If you're sure…"

Rosalie walks a few steps ahead as she reaches the hair salon, and the smell of food gives way to a sharp order of hair color and leather. It takes her just few seconds to get Esme set up in her chair. I offer to stay with her once again, but she waves me away. And the way Rosalie looks at me, I can tell there's a conversation just stirring in her mind. Something she doesn't want to talk about in front of Esme.

The walk back to Subway is a silent one, which just makes me want to wriggle my hands together at the awkwardness. I want to alleviate it with some talk, but I can't think of a topic.

I don't have much to worry about as she starts as soon as we're seated. "Thanks for coming along; it means a lot to Esme."

"Thanks for inviting me…"

She delicately lifts up her sandwich, taking a bite. "So, interesting thing happened yesterday. Carlisle sat everyone down and told them that he'd arranged a family therapy session."

My stomach clenches.

"As you can imagine, Emmett didn't really like that notion. Even though he's loud, he still likes to keep things bottled inside of him. He doesn't like it when someone analyzes him."

"I doubt anyone does. Why are you telling me this?"

"I thought you'd want to know that your late night intervention worked."

"Esme doesn't deserve to be kept under a false illusion." My tone is defensive. It seems to be that way a lot lately.

Her ice blue eyes soften marginally. "I should've done that long ago. I shouldn't have been supporting Carlisle." She looks down. "I guess in a way I thought I was protecting her, that what she doesn't know won't hurt her. But I—we—were wrong. We should've helped her heal rather than feed her false illusions. We should've done a lot of things differently."

"Rosalie…"

"What I'm trying to say is…I'm sorry for behaving so rudely with you."

Before I can say anything, she changes the subject. It says a lot about her; she doesn't apologize lightly, so I take her words to the heart. The air around us isn't so…constricting anymore.

"Do you need to get some shopping done for next week?"

"You mean New York?"

"Mmhm."

I tug at the bottom of my grey hoodie. "I wanted to get some new clothes, but Edward didn't tell me any specific type of wear."

"Get a dress."

"He's told you?"

"He deemed it better to tell me than Emmett."

I can feel the tell-tale burn of a blush spreading over my neck. Edward and I hadn't spoken of what the trip to New York would signify, but we could both _feel_ it. We know it. I go back to my sandwich, praying for the pink hue to diminish.

Her icy eyes train on me and widen comically. A slice of tomato plops out of her sandwich, landing in a messy slap. She wipes her hands and leans over the table towards me.

"Are you telling me he's taking you to NY so he could—"

"Please don't complete that sentence." I want to bury my face in my hands. I look around me, whether to make sure no one else is listening in to our conversation or to avert my eyes.

She leans back against her chair, sagging down a bit. She's grinning at me, a mischievous look in her eyes. It scares me a little.

"Hurry, finish your food. We'll go shopping—my style. And Bella, call me Rose."

.

.

"Stop tugging," she scolds, her hands pressing mine to my side. "This isn't the one."

"How do you know that?" I can't help the bite in my voice. She's made me try on close to a dozen dresses.

"If your confidence doesn't soar in it, it's not the right dress for you. It should be like a second skin."

I huff, blowing the bangs away from my eyes. She deposits a royal blue dress in my arms, pushing me towards the dressing rooms. I'm starting to regret the idea of agreeing to shop with her.

"Shouldn't we be going to Esme now, Rose?"

"She's coloring her hair, too."

"It's probably done by now." My voice echoes in the small room. I struggle to unzip the back of this green dress, and Rosalie's hand snakes through the curtain to aid.

"It's only been a few minutes over half an hour."

It feels like a lot longer.

The royal blue dress is easier to slide on. It's embroidered lightly on the bust, pinching at the waist, and flaring out at the hips. The side of it is cut into three stripes, each tangling around my legs. It brings a glow to my otherwise pale skin, and I understand what Rosalie had meant.

I step out from the curtain, letting out a little twirl in exaggeration. She gives me one look before grinning like crazy.

"Do you like it?"

I don't have to respond, she already knows the answer.

"We should stop by Victoria's Secret."

My wide eyed look makes her laugh.

"Or maybe you would prefer to do that shopping alone."

"Please." As much as I like this new friendship, looking at underwear that's meant to entice her brother-in-law is a little too much in one day.

"Now…shoes. And then we have to get back to Esme."

I'm excited about the dress, and the trip; so much so that I'm practically vibrating as I get back into my normal clothes.

* * *

><p><strong>Almost there! :)<br>**

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	51. Chapter 51

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"So why did you drag me out while I could be taking a nap before my evening class?"<p>

"You were my second and only solution."

"You mean other than the need for a car?"

I simper. "That wasn't even on my mind."

"Where are we heading?"

"To the nearest mall."

"What are you looking for?"

"Victoria's Secret." My eyes dart around us, hoping that my voice is low enough so that no one hears. I'm more than just mortified.

She pauses from blowing away the steam from her coffee, her eyes glancing up at me through her eyelashes. "You could order online."

I let out a breath through my teeth. "I tried, but…"

She smirks. "This is for your little trip, isn't it?"

She's enjoying this way too much. My legs twitch underneath the table. Rosalie's words are still stuck on my mind; the right clothes are supposed to make your confidence soar. Perhaps that's what I need right now; new clothes would make me feel a little more in control and comfortable in my skin…and little else.

She shrugs, and grins wickedly. "I'm up for it. My mom decided she wants to head down to Los Angeles—my nana is there. And her neighbor's son comes home during the winter from college, so I could use a new sleep number."

She wraps her arm around mine, pulling me out of the Café and to her car. She's a calm driver compared to Rosalie, but it gives her the chance to tease me. We arrive at the mall in no time. It's surprising to see her unbarred as she shows no sign of slowing down her steps, even when she's stepping into the lingerie store. I drag my feet after her, avoiding the scantily clothed mannequins on display. The pink in the place is slightly overpowering.

This is not what I had in mind. I'm sure I'm redder than the man trailing after his wife with a few bags in hand.

Angela holds up a lacy piece of cloth—a triangle—with a tiny little bow in the middle. She wiggles her eyebrows. I can't shake my head in negative enough.

"Let's shop for me first? You can look around and decide what you want."

"Tell me about this college guy of yours."

Her eyes light up. "I've known him since High School. I'd go live with Nana for the summer months when I rebelled against my parents' travelling habit. He helped me build a swing in the backyard and gave me a haircut when I deemed long hair to be out of style. He was a lot of my firsts."

"Sounds like someone special."

She scrunches up her nose. "He was, but after he graduated high school, he became really quiet and started avoiding me like a plague."

"And you're planning on changing that with…that."

She holds up a hot pink halter lace, completely see through. Two little hearts adorn at the center of the breast area and garter straps hang down from the bottom edges.

"Seriously? You're going to wear that in winter for a guy that might not even step out in the cold?"

"Who says he has to step out? That's what windows are for!"

My jaw drops, and a laugh bubbles up. It's the last thing I'd expected her to say.

Angela finds something behind me, her eyes widening as she gasps dramatically. The halter top-thing drops from her hands as she rushes to clutch at a black, thigh-length nightie with fur around the neckline.

"I'm gonna go try it on!"

I wander through the tables of neatly stacked, colorful garments. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

_Free for lunch?_

I twist my lips to the side. _Sorry_,_ I'm out shopping with a friend. _

_Is missing someone you haven't for a few days called obsession?_

My fingers fly over the keys. _Not obsession, but I reckon it's torture._

_Of the sweetest kind. _

Angela peeks from behind my shoulder. "Who's that?"

"Edward."

"Your ride?"

My eyes snap to her.

She hurries to elaborate, "Is he the boyfriend?"

"Mhm."

"You should send him a picture; that way, he'll tell you what he likes."

"I don't think I'll ever be able to face him without blushing if I do that."

"I'm not saying you have to send a picture of _you_ in a skimpy little thing."

Segue…think of a segue… "How did that dress fit you?"

"This _nightie_ fit perfectly. I'm so buying it." She clutches it, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. She'd phased her advice as just that, but her expression tells me she's expecting me to follow through. Just thinking about it makes my palms sweaty. Before I know it, she's holding up royal blue…_thingy,_ and nods her chin towards my phone.

"I'll do it if you don't," she threatens.

One of the workers comes over to ask if everything is okay, and as soon as she leaves, Angela glares at me. I sigh and take the picture, wondering if I can gather up the courage to send it. She doesn't trust me, because she grabs the phone and does it by herself. I don't fight her too much.

It takes a few minutes for Edward to respond, and as much as I try to convince myself that he might be busy, I can't help but think that teasing him was a bad idea.

Angela and I look around, her showing me some subtle choices. My phone buzzes in my hand and my pulse races.

_You probably ought to know that I have a wild imagination. -Edward_

_It's a good thing. Now I don't have to send you my picture. -Bella_

_What? I lied! -Edward_

_Still, imagine away… -Bella_

_Be still, my beating heart. -Edward_

Be still, indeed… -_Bella_

_Are you buying that? -Edward_

_Do you want me to? -Bella_

_Just one? We are going to be there for four nights…-Bella_

The wink-y face at the end of his text gives me the tingles.

It doesn't take us long to find some other little numbers, but I refuse to try anything on.

And for some reason, Angela lets me get away with it.

* * *

><p><strong>Next chapter is NYC (and the reason why this story is Rated M). I had it planned to be this one, but it got too long-the chapter.<br>**

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	52. Chapter 52

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**theonlykyla pre-read this for me. Her words soothed me more than I can express.**

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Yeah, we just landed. Edward is grabbing us some coffee."<p>

"What's it like?" Esme sounds so excited, as if she were here instead of me.

"Cold, busy and loud," I tell her with a laugh.

I hear her sigh. "But you'll love it when you get to the hotel."

I narrow my eyes. She—and Rosalie—had been dropping hints of what Edward had planned, but all I could make out was a dinner that I needed a fancy dress for. "Which one is it?"

"I can't say." She continues without waiting for a response as she hears Edward's voice as he hands me my cup. "I'll let you be on your way!"

It takes a little bit of time, but we're eventually seated in a taxi. I find myself rubbing my eyebrows unconsciously. Rosalie had stopped by bright and early, to both reassure me that Edward paying for my flight tickets isn't wrong in any way, and help me get myself together—which included plucking out the extra hairs on my eyebrows. She'd also left a little black bag in the corner of my luggage. I tried not to think about the contents of it.

She'd actually tried to prep me, about the wonders of a healthy sex life, but I'd mumbled out some nonsense about shoes to try and distract her.

Tanya was right. Jimmy Choos are the best.

Edward's fingers squeeze my knee cap, his face lit up like a child's, the heavy traffic not diminishing his excitement even a tiny bit.

"I can't wait to take the helicopter tour. The brochure said that the ride is from the Statute of Liberty to Niagara Falls, with a boat ride behind the falls."

"You're reserved them already," I state. He has picked out the activities already; it's endearing to witness.

He gives me a shy grin.

"When are we going?"

"The day after tomorrow, so I was thinking of staying in tonight, to just relax. And I also have a surprise for you."

I bite down on my bottom lip at the reminder. It's almost a foreign feeling, even though it's odd because I've been experiencing it for a few days now. There's this line between confidence—which correlates with comfort—and shyness. I'm at the border of both of those. Images flick through my mind, of various positions; with just flesh against flesh that I know without a doubt I want to try with Edward, but the nervous side of my wonders if I'll be able to pull it off without causing major embarrassment for myself.

The way Edward's thumb strokes the inside of my knee helps. I have full confidence in _him_.

Cars move at a slow pace, but it gives us a chance to see the city. The sun is still up, and the city isn't' much different than any other I've previously lived in. Perhaps it's because it's the weekend and the streets come alive at night.

"I had a map of the world on my wall when I was in high school. I had pictures from movies and magazines posted on it as a way of planning, and I wanted to eventually change those with my own personal collection of pictures, as a means of saying 'been there, saw it'."

"Do you still have it?"

"Yeah, somewhere folded in a box. I plan on bringing it out again." His hand lifts mine so that he can kiss my knuckles. I melt against him.

His dreams are no longer going to be caged, just like his carefree personality. I want to unravel all the barriers he's build in front of him.

"I've always wanted to dedicate an entire wall to the map of USA. I wanted to paint it in, and color in the places that I would visit."

"What states?"

"All those that James had seen, the ones where he called me from."

"Why haven't you?"

I shrug a little, the motion against his shoulder bringing his attention rather than him seeing it. "I wasn't sure of how I would react. I felt as if it would be like losing him all over again."

"You can only lose someone when you want to let them go."

He's referring to the red bandana—I'm sure—but his eyes are focused on my tattoos, his fingers absentmindedly tracing a water-bled eye.

Scars are a reminder of the hurt, pain, and the broken mess. Emotional scars are at times concealable, but physical reminders are a harsh reminder.

My self-inflicted scars remain in the form of ink down the length of my arm, while his remains as the scar on his hand from the night of the fire.

I've never seen my tattoos as a reminder of Renee, but now that Edward has mentioned it, I allow myself to acknowledge that they just make me feel closer to her.

My eyes widen as the taxi stops in front of the hotel. 'The London NYC' illuminates magnificently at the door. The lobby is assembled in a square, with a round sofa in the middle in front of an electric fireplace. Entranceways to elevators and stairs and the many enmities grace the walls.

I clutch my bag tightly, my eyes taking in the decor as Edward checks us in. The room is even more magnificent. A bed sits off to the side, while a large bathroom mirrors it on the opposite side. There is a crystal chandelier in the middle of the room, with a round mirror surrounding the base of it. A circular sofa is decorated besides the mini bar and fridge at the opposite corner of the room. I have the urge to jump on the bed to see if the mattress really is as soft as it looks.

There is a balcony a few steps ahead of the bed, and the view from the door takes my breath away. There are lights on in some of the rooms in the buildings opposite, casting a vibrant glow.

I briefly hear the door closing, and Edward circles his arms around my waist. His chin rests on my shoulder, his scruff rubbing roughly against the skin of my neck. It's not painful, but rather the opposite.

I'm surrounded by him.

He walks us forward, his chest lifting and falling behind me as he breathes, and I can feel his hips brushing against my back with each step.

I can feel every nerve ending coming alive, from the tips of my fingers to the tips of my toes.

One of his hands leaves my waist to open the glass door, and we step out. We're not on one of the top floors, but the view is enchanting. The lighting on the Brooklyn Bridge creates a firework-like luminance and the city is starting to crowd on the sidewalks.

My eyes slide shut when Edward's fingers move across my hips and one of his hand snakes up my stomach, high enough to expose a little bit of my skin to the cold wind, and set a fiery trail up my flesh.

He presses a kiss to my sweater-covered shoulder.

"The surprise . . . Wear the dress," he mumbles. "I can't wait to see it—see _you_ in it."

He pulls away. A disgruntled sound escapes my throat.

I have half a mind made up to tell him to skip it, but I know he's been planning it for a while.

I watch as he walks across the room, dialing the phone on the small table by the door. I grab my bag and take it into the bathroom.

The nerves are back, so I focus on showering and getting ready. Rosalie had brought me a small travel-size makeup kit; I use the eye shadow and mascara as she had instructed, opting to leave the foundation out. Next is hair; the curling iron looks harmless enough but it would take too much time. I straighten the light waves in my hair, before peering into the little black bag. It's mocking at me.

A sheer babydoll nightie stares back up at me.

I can feel the blood drain from my face.

I tuck it away at the bottom.

The royal blue, lacy garments I'd brought with both Angela and Edward's approval are a safe choice right now . . . and I won't scare myself and Edward if I wear them.

The dress is both the easiest part and the hardest. Easiest because I know that I look good wearing it, and hardest because I know that I will have to step out once it's on.

The halter-like straps around my neck brings out my pale skin, highlighting my eyes and hair.

I take a deep breath as I strap on the black Mary-Janes that Rosalie had deemed 'perfect'. The spacious bathroom suddenly feels confiscating.

There's no more stalling.

All my worries and nervousness disappears as I move out and take in Edward's serene expression.

He's leaning his back against the balcony railing, his eyes closed. A tiny smile plays on his lips.

I'd been focused on the wrong thing this entire evening. Instead of worry, I should've been thinking of _Edward_. If it hadn't been for him, I never would've come to New York for sightseeing. I like big cities; small towns like Forks allow for everyone to know what's going on; people like my school's janitor and a clerk at the video rental shop in Fork knew why I had come to live with Charlie. Small towns didn't allow for a broader view; sports and small businesses were the main ideas. Some of my classmates were planning on taking over the family business while I wanted to get out and do something that made me happy.

Forks didn't even have an Art Program.

I wouldn't have done any good if I had stayed in Forks with Charlie; I would've been a comatose corpse, isolating myself and blending into the background to avoid attention. I would've never gotten comfortable in my own skin and come to terms with my anger that had been manifesting for over a decade if I hadn't come to Chicago.

Edward and I have both come a long way. He's changed from the person I met in the coffee shop, not only mentally but physically. He doesn't look like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. The way he smiles at nothing in particular, as if he were lost in memories lights up his face. His arms are folded over his chest, the black button down shirt tight against his muscles. The light from the sunset makes the color of his hair appear vibrant.

My fingers itch to touch him.

My heels make tip-tap sound against the thin carpet, and his eyes snap open. Heat licks at my flesh at the way his eyes travel from my toes to my head, missing not one detail.

He takes slow steps towards me, his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes dark.

I almost lift my hand up to graze his sharp jawline.

"You look beautiful," he murmurs softly, tilting his head down so that his lips brush against my cheek; it leaves behind a sweet burn. A knock on the door pulls us apart, and Edward ushers me out of the room.

"Close your eyes," he instructs as we step onto the elevator.

I do as he asks. "Where are we going?"

I can feel him moving behind me, letting one of his hands settle on my hip, his heartbeat as steady as the gentle lift. He moves my hair to bare my shoulder, his lips following after his fingers. My knees threaten to buckle. My reaction makes him smirk.

The sudden pause of the elevator startles, and a gust of cold air hits me.

"I didn't think of the cold…" he tells me. "I don't even have a coat with me. Do you want me to go grab you one?"

"No, I'll be fine."

He presses his chest, walking me forward. I obediently keep my eyes closed; I want to be wood. I want the surprise dates and planning and the anticipation that makes my heart race.

He steps away, and I instantly miss the warmth.

"Open your eyes," he whispers.

My lips part before my eyelids. I want to breathe in the sensation of knowing my feelings. There is a bit of tension lingering in the back of my mind as I battle with how to tell Edward about them, but I try to push them away the best I can. I refuse to revert back to my over-analyzing self and ruin the evening.

It's not hard to forget about the turmoil as the darkness separates to reveal a blue fire in front of me. It's the most intense scenery around, the most captivating. There are a few tables scattered across the terrace, decorated with candles, but they're empty. Beside the elevator is a little walkway, leading to another terrace, one that is filled with guests. The view of New York City at sunset…it's indescribable.

"Is it too much?"

I look at Edward, taking in his stance; his hands are folded behind him and I suspect he'd been digging his toe into the ground in nervousness.

I slip my arms between his so they're wrapped against his waist loosely, letting my cheek rest against his chest. I'm a little lost for words; I've never felt this special in my life.

"Perfect…"

He kisses the top of my head, his hand rubbing my back.

We separate to sit opposite at the table closest to the fire.

Edward pours us champagne, and lifts his glass up to clink it with mine. I've never felt more pampered.

"To new adventures," I offer.

"To new relationships," he adds.

The light pink champagne has a soft taste to it—more preferable than the wine.

I notice the waiter standing by patiently, far enough to not hear our conversation. "You went all out," I say, a little bit of nervousness in my voice.

"I never took you out on a first date, so I'm making up for it."

"I would've had a blast even with hotdogs at a park, but thank you. All this is . . . beautiful."

His index finger starts a trail from my wrist to my knuckles and then back, going further up my arm each time. I don't think he even realizes what he's doing, and if he is, he doesn't realize the kind of reaction it's eliciting from me.

Time has a way of flying by. I notice the way the light isn't hitting Edward's hair, or his eyes. I notice the way his lips form around the fork as a little bit of chocolate lingers at the corner of his mouth. I notice the way his tongue passes over his lips unconsciously; a part of me wants to do that for him. And I definitely notice the way the air around us tightens with tension once the food is cleared from the table.

We're a little buzzed from the wine, which makes his smiles a little crooked and his hands loose to wander. He's making shapes and spelling out words, and driving me crazy. He seems completely at ease.

"I have another motive in coming to New York. And I hadn't realized it until you texted me about shopping before your trip."

I can already feel the burn of a blush on my cheeks.

His eyes widen. "No, no." The tips of his ears match the color of my face, I'm sure. "I meant… When you told me you were out shopping with your friend . . . it sort of made me contact Jasper through Facebook. I've been wanting to for a long time, but I never gathered the courage to actually do it. But I figured what could go wrong, right?" He shrugs as if it isn't a big deal.

I squeeze his hand. "When are you going to meet him?"

"We—if you want to come with me, that is. I'd like to introduce you to him, too."

I feel giddy at the thought, but there seems to be another reason behind it. It's also apparent that he doesn't want to talk about that subject.

"I'd like to."

"He wants to meet for lunch on Thursday."

"Out last day here… That won't give you a chance to talk to him again."

"One meeting may be the most I can handle." He lets out a breath through his teeth. "I don't think I can handle being reminded too much of what I used to be."

"I really admire you, you know."

His eyes snap to mine, and my own widen in shock. I hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"I mean, not only because you're strong enough to deal with whatever life has thrown at you, but also because you help save tiny live no matter how much it'll hurt you to see them in pain, you still do it." I mash my eyes shut together tightly. Word vomit wasn't in my plans, but it is better that he knows how I feel about him anyway. It's much more than admiration.

Amusement crosses his face.

"I thought you should know that." I nod, acting like I'd just given the most important speech of my life.

A chuckle bubbles up from his throat. "Thank you."

My finger traces the scar on his hand. "And I really like it when you wear ties."

"And I really like _you_." He glances down nonchalantly, as if he had said something that I ought to have already known. One thing I've learned about him is that actions matter more than words do; he'd understand my feelings if I _show_ him rather than if I tell him. "You should've told me to wear one when we were in our room."

"I didn't really notice it…" My eyes travel over his shoulders again. His chin is on his folded hands, his elbows resting on the table. It makes his shirt stretch over his broad muscles. And the way I'm staring at him leaves no doubt what exactly is on my mind.

His grips my hand in his, leading me back to the elevator, and instead of slipping behind me, he stands by my side, leaving one of his hands to make passes up and down my spine. The muscles in my stomach twist and turn, and I'm feeling everything but queasy. It makes me want to peel the dress to get skin to skin contact. The air feels charged with the tension and energy between us. I peek at the waiter who had helped with the dinner on the terrace; the smirk on his face almost conceals the awkward twitch of his leg.

Edward's steps are too slow as we near our door. Or maybe I'm the one moving slow and he's just keeping pace.

The door shuts behind us softly. The room is dark, with only the moon and the lights from the opposite buildings being cast in. Before I can do anything, he grabs my face in his hands to tilt it upward, meeting my eyes.

"Nothing has to happen tonight, okay? That's not why I brought you here." His thumbs soothe away any fears and any hesitation. The fact that he's letting me control whatever we do sends heat to the pit of my stomach and I can't get close enough to him.

I'm clawing at his shoulders, his chest, and his hair as my lips demandingly seek his. His hair is cold, feeling almost wet while his skin is hot.

His kiss is slow, brushing across my lips teasingly. When he pulls away, I lick my bottom lip, the taste of wine now prominent from his. His eyes look impossibly darker and hooded; hungry.

"Are you sure, because I need to know; if I start, I swear to God I won't let you move even an inch from me. I won't stop until I'm too tired to move." His words send heat through me. I don't answer as I pull his head down by tugging on his shirt collar and mold my lips to his again and again. My fingers run down his spine, nails pressing in randomly, returning the favor.

I bite his bottom lip, my tongue following suite as I finally do what I wanted earlier. His head falls back against the door, making a little sound, and my lips travel down to his neck.

He releases a loud groan; its vibrations travel down to the tips of my toes.

A giggle sounds, and we freeze. He looks wild, his eyes wide and his hair a mess. Soft words come through the door, words about us being loud and having fun. The quiet laughter that bubbles between us can't be stopped.

That moment gives Edward a chance to pull himself together and the gleam in his eyes makes me take a step back. He stalks towards me, as if I'm the prey and he the hunter. My knees buckle as I reach the edge of the bed; he clutches at my hips as he follows. His arms cage me, each elbow resting on either side of my head. Every nerve in me is aware of his weight; it makes me both feel small and protected. He's taking charge at the moment, but only as if to return the administrations I'd delivered; I knew that if I ask him to stop, he'd do it, no matter how painful it might be for him.

His teeth nibble across my collarbone, kisses not far away. Sounds that even I couldn't decipher make their way out from my lips, my breath coming in heavy pants. His hands are pushing at my dress, trying to find a way to get it away from my skin. My own are traveling everywhere on his body I can reach, but it doesn't seem enough. I pull at his shirt again, tugging to so that it comes loose from his slacks, hoping that—like all other times—he understands what I want without having to say it out loud. If I'm being honest with myself, I don't think I'll be able to mutter out anything but gibberish.

He doesn't disappoint. He lifts back up; one of his hands grabs his shirt at the hem, tugging it over his head in one smooth move. He falls back, his hand immediately going to my knees. He moves the dress up so that my legs are free from the confines, his fingers shifting to squeeze and massage my legs apart. His hips settle between them.

And tingles, finger quivering shivers run down me as I finally feel him at the apex of my thighs. He's pushing so deliciously, leaving me a shaking mess. My lips find his jaw, leaving kisses, and his soft grunts sound like music to my ears. My hands are all over his back, scratching and pushing him closer to me. He grabs at my dress, as if he's ready to rip it apart.

"Zipper…back…" I whisper out roughly, my voice barely coming out.

He growls, the sound sending a rush of arousal.

His upper body lifts up, one hand pushing against the bed to support his weight and the other finding the back of my dress. I rise up a little to help him. The motion makes us brush against each other a little more firmly, and in a different way. My legs tense and my knees grab at his hips tightly, caging him to me.

His fumbling hands give me a sense of control; if I press my hips more firmly against him, he groans, and if I tug on his hair, he moans.

His sounds drive me crazy.

He growls again, this time in irritation. He flips us over in one motion, and I put my hands on his chest to steady myself. His skin blends in with the white sheets, but his hair contrasts. He succeeds, and the dress pools at my hips. His breath catches in his throat, his eyes moving over every inch of my newly exposed skin. He had just given me free reign to let my hands wander over his exposed skin. I let my nails scratch ever so slightly down his pecs, down his nipples, and his hips push up forcefully.

There is nothing hesitant about our want, nor our movement. There's no inkling of awkwardness or self-consciousness ringing in my head. His words from earlier come to mind; he had said I looked beautiful, and with the way he's looking at me right now, I _feel_ exactly so.

And the twitch of his hardness against me tells me he definitely likes the lacy blue lingerie.

His fingers trace a pattern on my stomach. My muscles clench in anticipation. They move to my ribcage, the rough skin of this thumbs rubbing in soft strokes. He cups my shoulders, lifting himself off of the bed in one smooth move, bringing his lips to my collarbone and moving lower. His tongue is insistent and relentless in its exploration between my breasts. One of his hand moves up under my bra to cup one of my breasts, his finger circling and teasing my nipple. His tongue pays the same attention to the other over the cloth.

My chest juts out as I throw my head back, letting my eyes slide shut. I _feel_ so much at the same time. There's so much that I want to be doing, but his administrations are distracting, especially his talented tongue. I concentrate on his hands as they open the snaps at my back, letting the cold air pebble my nipples further. His moan against my sternum vibrates through me. He pulls my hair into a gentle grip and tugs it back, his lips leading back towards mine.

My hips move unconsciously against his hard length. His belt brushes against my clit at every pass, the sensation somehow both foreign and familiar to me.

He flips us over again, peeling away the dress down my legs, leaving kisses from my ankles to my inner thighs. He bites lightly below my belly button, sucking to leave a bright red mark before he settles back on his hunches. His index finger slips into the top of my boy shorts, his eyes boring into mine in silent question. When I nod, he slowly slips it down my legs. He sheds his own clothes before settling back down on top of me.

My heart is hammering in my chest; anticipation lighting me on fire, but the desperation from earlier has left. It's a slow burn between us, as we lay flesh to flesh. It's a contrast with soft against hard. He remains exploring, now in calmness that leaves me withering under him.

He's _right_ _there_, but it's as if he's waiting for something. Every so often, he brushes his hips against mine, letting me feel his desire, yet he refuses to continue on. The coil in my stomach tightens.

I slide my feet up his legs, brushing and pushing against any part of his skin that I can reach. And it isn't until my hands find his lower back and I pull him against me that he finally breaks. He kisses me deeply and bruisingly; slipping into me so slowly. I feel every push and every pull, every muscle and every twitch, every pant, and every groan. The slight bit of discomfort fades away into a sweet burn. All I can concentrate on is _him_. The way he murmurs softly into my ear about things that I can't really register, in a language that I don't understand. The way his fingers interlace with mine as he holds my hands hostage besides my head. The way his hips move slowly, before speeding up and then slowing down just to see my reaction, and drive me crazy. The way he hoists my knee on his hip, pushing deeper until my eyes mash shut. The way he randomly turns so that I'm on top, and he's able to move me to the pace he likes and let his lips explore freely.

Despite that desperation to soothe the heat at the pit of my stomach, there's something strangely tranquil about the moment, even with the fast and slow pace. He knows how I feel, he knows that I'm not scared of this relationship; I want this just as much as he does. And he knows that I really, really like him too. Maybe more.

And he both tells and shows me, again and again.

The lights dim away as time goes out of our hands. I'm aware of nothing but him, completely surrounded until our eyes droop.

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><p><strong>So . . . yeah.*Twiddles thumbs*<br>**

**As always, thank you for reading. :) Leave me a review.  
><strong>


	53. Chapter 53

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>5:25.<p>

I can't stop staring at the red, blinking numbers on the nightstand. The significance isn't lost on me; it's the first time I've ever slept past five.

Edward groans a little, wrapping his arm around my waist tighter. My mind pushes aside the fact that my skin is overheating.

My body is aching slightly; sore, but a wide smile spreads across my lips before I burrow back into my pillow, the warmth of Edward's body and his breath against the back of my neck lulling me back into sleep.

I wake up before Edward again, this time because of the daylight. The balcony door is closed, but the curtains are spread.

One of Edward's arms is curled under my shoulders, grasping me to him even in his deep slumber. The other is stretched across the discarded pillow on the other side. The side of my face is pressed against his chest, and I can hear the sound of blood rushing through my ears. I try to move, but Edward breathes in deeply, and I freeze. He turns towards me, his other arm falling over my waist.

I tilt my head up to look at him only when his breathing evens. There's a bit of stubble on his jaw, and the sight of his cheeks pulling back in a small smile every so often makes me want to rub mine against his. His lips are puckered out in a pout; I slide my thumb across the bottom one.

He looks so peaceful…

I'm strangely ecstatic. I feel like a high school kid, wanting to run to my best friends and tell them that my crush kissed me.

I spend a few more minutes tracing Edward's features, wondering how someone could be so beautiful.

I shake it off. As fascinating as watching him is, I miss his smiles and his eyes.

I slide my foot up his bare legs, trying to find his ticklish spots. My hand finds his chest, and I dig my fingers in gently as I trail it down to his stomach.

His shoulders twitch, tensing before relaxing.

Bingo.

I do it again, and this time, I can feel his muscles clench.

He opens one eye slowly, narrowing it at my mock innocent smile. In an exaggerated stretch, he presses his arm to my back, and I topple over him.

His hands settle over my lower back, soft fingers running up and down, sending shivers down my spine. I can feel his hard length pressing against my stomach, and all the playfulness is lost as I make up for waking him so unceremoniously.

.

.

Edward remained relentless to go out and explore the city, even though I tried to distract him with sweet crèmes from our breakfast. I would've still been second guessing myself had he not spent the last few minutes kissing my senseless.

We showered separately—much to Edward's dismay—but I needed to wash and shave, and I refused to believe how that would be comfortable with another person in the bath. Some things needed to be kept apart.

"Tell me about your high school," he demands as soon as we set out towards the Harbor Cruise. He had requested two tickets to be reserved while checking in last night and surprised me with them today.

He looks impossibly taller in his grey coat. He's wearing a flimsy v-neck shirt that makes me want to kiss him on the collarbone. The air seems to be going right through my jeans and makes goose bumps appear almost all over my arms and legs.

"Quiet. Forks didn't have much, but there was a beach, which was cold all year long, and a small lake that was a popular spot during Spring Break and summer. No clubs and three or four restaurants total."

"Did you go to the lake?"

"No. I tried to finish as many books at my school's library as I could. It was my goal before leaving for college."

"Your school was open during the holidays?"

"We didn't have a regular library, so it had to be open for the rare few who wanted the solace."

Edward's hand bumps across mine. I look at him from the corner of my eyes; he's staring straight ahead, towards a long queue of people waiting for the security check before boarding the ferry.

I link my fingers when his knuckles brush against mine; it's a little awkward at first since he's much taller, but we find a comfortable way: my arm around his and our fingers entwined.

"What wild things did you get into?" I ask him in turn. I've often seen a mischievous glint in his eyes; there's no way he didn't stir up any trouble in his teenage years.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he replies with a perfected, poker face.

I raise an eyebrow, jabbing him in the stomach.

He cringes, and wraps his arms around me, effectively trapping mine. I tilt my head so that my chin rests on his chest. He looks down at me with an intense stare, one that I can't seem to break away from.

"I'm sure you brought on quite a few gray hairs on Carlisle's scalp."

"That wasn't me," he states defensively. "Emmett caused the most stir, up to the point where some of the nurses at Carlisle's office openly suggested that they were very available."

"And you expect me to believe that you didn't get that reaction?"

He smirks, one side of his lips lifting higher than the other—I'd think he was being arrogant did I not know him. "I did, and I basked in it for all my senior year. The appeal left them after…news travels fast among the circles around here."

It's clear what he's hesitating to mention. I want to ask about Vanessa; she had been such a prominent part of his life. I'm afraid of his reaction; I know it pains him to talk about her. Though he's said he's moved past the guilt, and I believe he has, those wounds haven't healed. I don't want to sprinkle salt on them.

"Tell me about the pranks you and Emmett pulled."

He throws his head back and laughs. "They are countless. We tried everything from emptying beer cans and putting vinegar in them to experimenting with food."

"I have no trouble imagining you in the kitchen."

He shrugs nonchalantly. "All those 'experiments' taught me enough to survive with two meals daily. Emmett had no trouble eating anything I could come up with. His favorite dish was pasta with Taco Bell's mild sauce and buttermilk mayonnaise."

I scrunch my nose up.

He leans down to kiss the top of it, making me smile. "It wasn't so bad. We would cook that up while watching Harry Potter, and now every time that movie plays on the TV, I can practically taste the Cullen-esque pasta."

"I used to watch YouTube videos. Well, I would read a cook book, fail to make something for Charlie—even though he never complained—by dinner time, and then, would hopelessly watch the same recipe online."

"Back in my day," he pauses dramatically before continuing, "YouTube wasn't created. You forget that I'm older than you."

I snicker. "You're practically ancient if we were to measure it by the dates social Medias were invented."

"I'll have you know there were plenty of apps available when I was in high school."

"Like MySpace?" I tease.

He lowers his eyes, his long lashes brushing against the white skin of his upper cheeks. "Yes, MySpace," he sighs.

He steps away from me as we go through the security check, and clasps my hand as soon as we step near the ferry, without any hesitation. We find a spot in the front corner of the triangle-ish boat. There is a small vendor's cart sitting in the middle, and a tall stand behind the cart for the tour guide. I slide my hand around Edward's hip under his coat, surprising a grin at the way his eyes go wide. It's not often that I can surprise him, but I'm starting to cherish those moments. I grab the tour pamphlet out of his back pocket, noticing the tours of the Liberty Statue, as well as the ride back, and then tours of the memorable sights in and around New York City.

As much as I hadn't wanted to leave our hotel room this morning, the excitement has caught up with me, and hearing Edward's excited voice makes it all worth it.

Even when he buys a disposable camera and poses ridiculously to capture the memories.

* * *

><p><strong>As always, thank you for reading. :) Leave me a review.<br>**


	54. Chapter 54

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Do I look okay?"<p>

"You look beautiful."

"I feel underdressed."

Edward glances down at his own jeans and a zipped up jacket that proudly displays "Armani Exchange" on the right breast. "We're only meeting Jasper in a coffee shop."

I throw up hands up. "But he's your _friend_," I stress. "I have to make a good impression."

"Baby, you don't need to change your outfit to impress him." His hands find their way to my shoulder, and it's astonishing how just one touch can calm the thousand butterflies that are in my stomach.

I tug at the hem of my long sweater. I'd talked to Esme earlier, and she sounded practically ecstatic when I told her about Jasper. She'd also told me how Jasper would come home to visit after their school was over, and how she missed him during Edward's residency.

Edward fidgets with the zipper of his jacket, his brows drawn together. Amidst my own worries, I'd been neglecting the knowledge that he would be under even more stress.

"You okay?" I ask him softly.

He blows out a breath through clenched teeth. "Yeah, I'm just nervous I guess."

"Don't be; I'm sure Jasper will be happy that you're talking again."

He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Hopefully." I push it aside as nerves, and grasp his hand as we make our way out of the hotel.

Edward had requested Jasper to meet at a small café within two blocks of our hotel. He wanted to see the city, wanted to breathe it in, as if we were living here permanently, not in need of a car. That topic had brought up a whole new conversation—one that I hadn't even thought of until Edward mentioned it. I'd need a car to transport Alice back and forth from the house to her appointments. While I enjoyed the walks, I couldn't deny that having Alice do such would make my heart race with worry, and I would not feel comfortable with her riding the Chicago L.

Edward hooks a finger into the pocket of my jeans, pressing me closer to that he's able to wrap an arm around me easily, his fingers drumming a gentle tune on my hip. I beam up at him.

Despite the afternoon, the clouds have dimmed the city light a bit; the air presses into my skin, even though it's a double layer of Melton wool. The streets are filled with busy workers and shoppers getting ready for Christmas. Shops are packed, as are the sidewalks, and the car traffic is something I'd only seen in Los Angeles when James had taken me there. Tourists are sitting with cameras on the tour buses, and I wonder how different their trip is from ours.

Probably not as intense…but intense can be good.

"It's too bad that it won't start snowing until tonight."

"How so?" I scrunch up my nose.

"After the first snowfall, the Wollman Rink is open for public skating; it's in the Central Park."

"I haven't ice skated before."

"Neither have I, but it could be fun learning together." The thoughts of basketball sized bruises passes out of my mind at Edward's excited grin.

"I'll try ice skating with you anytime." I nod. "But if it had snowed earlier, we might not have been able to get our helicopter tour," I point out.

He gives me a wicked grin, no doubt thinking of the gropes and the make out session that he had initiated at heights that sent my pulse into a mind-numbing race. "That was pretty memorable."

I snort, my cheeks heating at the sudden sound. "This entire trip is memorable."

The smile he gives me makes me giddy. "I'd say so."

He opens the door to the Quest café, ushering me into the warmth of coffee beans and sweet pastries. His fingers are no longer tapping; his grip getting a little tighter. Nearly all the tables are full, but Edward leads me towards a table at the back, one that's against a glass wall overlooking the streets at the round-about block. The table also hosts a man, his back facing to us. All I can see is an expensive-looking black suit and blond hair that curls around his ears and neck.

"Jasper?"

Jasper's head bends down a little forward before he stands. His carefully masked expression surprises Bella; it's almost as if he's trying to put up a hard front that he doesn't have. The wrinkles around his eyes tell otherwise. He barely smiles as he puts his hand out for Edward to shake.

"It's nice to see you again, Edward."

"Likewise, Jasper, this is my girlfriend, Bella."

I thrust out my hand to him, smiling as if to calm him. "Hi."

"Hey. Sorry I started before you guys; I got here a bit early…and well, I couldn't resist the smell of coffee."

"Isn't that how you managed to pass all your tests—loaded up on caffeine?" The teasing slides smoothly from Edward and Jasper's shoulders visibly relax.

"Black coffee; it's still the reason I'm managing to clock in as many hours as I do." He sweeps one hand over. "Sit, I'll grab you something to drink."

"No, I got it." Edward's hand presses into my back to lead me towards the opposite side of the table. He doesn't ask what I want, just heads to wait in line with his hands in his pockets. His hair is sticking up in all directions, his shirt hugging him tightly. I don't miss the way some of the women turn their head to look.

I turn back to Jasper, who is looking at me with a weird expression on his face. "Do I have something on my face?"

He smirks, curiosity sparking on his face. "You have a little something on your neck but I don't think you can wipe it off."

My eyes widen, my hand automatically going to my throat. I didn't notice anything this morning, but then again, I'd been busy staring at the blurry, glass shower door and not the mirror.

"He looks happy," he comments again.

"He is. He's missed you."

Jasper makes a sound in his throat, something akin to disbelief.

"He has. But I can't say the same about you?"

"What do you mean?" His tone is defensive.

"You didn't look happy to see him." The thought that I might be crossing the line doesn't occur to me.

"I am. I really am." His eyes implore me to understand him. "But in my line of work, I'm taught to observe emotions, actions, and conclude their mental health from it." My breath catches in my throat. "I knew what Edward went through all those years ago. I didn't want to judge him, because the first thing I do when talking to someone is look for signs to label them in a certain category."

My breath catches in my throat. "You're a psychiatrist?" Alice and Esme's face crosses my mind.

"Psychiatrist?" Edward sits beside me, sliding a small, white cup of vanilla latte towards me, along with a piece of cake that makes my mouth water.

"Yup. I decided that field was best for me."

"Bella wants to do a variation of that, too." Edward beams towards me. "She's planning on studying Art Therapy for children with auditory problems."

"That's admirable, and requires a lot of patience." I try not to blush under Jasper's open appraisal, but the proud look on Edward's face makes it hard not to match his smile. I concentrate on my drink instead. "What about you, Edward?"

"I specialized in Pediatric Oncology."

Jasper pauses with his cup in midair. He struggles to find the right words. "Even after…"

"Especially after Vanessa."

"How do you do it?" He shifts in his chair in obvious discomfort.

"I try to think of the lives I've saved rather than the ones that I couldn't."

"I tried working in the Burn Center during my residency… I couldn't." Jasper's head tilts down to look at his hands instead.

There's an unreadable expression on Edward's face. And just as he can read me, I know he needs this time to talk to his friend, to have a chance to give his explanation, alone.

"Would you mind if I go to the shop across the street? I want to get a souvenir."

Edward's hand grasps mine. "Are you sure?"

"Emmett would kill me if I don't bring something back for him." I bend at the waist to peck him on the cheek, smiling at Jasper before leaving. I shudder against the cool air outside, looking through the colorful lighting on the shops. Maxiga and J. Crew shine the brightest.

Christmas decorations litter the walls and the shelves, and it's hard not to get caught up in the spirit of the mood.

As well as the nostalgia.

I call Charlie as I look around for gifts for the Cullen family for Christmas. He picks up on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dad."

"Everything okay, Bells?" I wince.

"Everything's great. How are you?"

"I'm good, too. I wanted to ask you about Christmas. Do you have any plans?"

"None yet; what were you thinking of?"

I take a deep breath. "Do you want to fly out here?"

He hesitates. "You don't want to come back home?"

It's not the first time that I've felt like he's holding out hope that I'll go back to Forks to live with him. "I wanted to show you my house." I bite down on my bottom lip, my fingers passing across the gift packages. I can't find anything that I could see any of them remotely liking. There is a complete section just of sports, and I spy some fishing tools—something for Charlie.

"I'll get a flight then."

"Sue can come with you…"

"I'll ask her first, and then book the tickets."

"Okay, Dad; take care."

"You too, Bells; talk to you later." His voice is guff as he ends the call, and I feel a horrible pang in my chest as I think of his expectations. If earlier, I probably would've moved back in with him, but now there is so much more at stake.

_Like your heart, _a voice rings through my head.

Cruel fate reads too many romance novels.

As I hang up the phone, I find something that Esme would like and something for Rosalie. I already have an idea on what to get for Alice and Emmett, but Edward and Carlisle are difficult—the former because I want the present to be special, and the latter because I don't really know him. It doesn't take me long to check out my purchases and head back to the café, hoping that Jasper and Edward have reconciled.

The banter is easy between the two, and they're laughing when I reach them.

I sit down next to Edward, and his arm immediately goes to wrap around the back of my chair. His other hand squeezes my kneecap in greeting.

"So, Bella," Jasper concentrates his intense blue eyes on me. "How did you two meet?"

"Maternal set-up," I reply seriously.

Jasper snorts, one of his hands lifting so his fingers cover his lips. "Esme hasn't changed, has she?"

I peek a glance at Edward as he says, "She has, but in a good way. This is all her doing." He nudges me softly with his shoulder. His lips brush my ears as he whispers, "Sorry I ate your pastry. It looked too good."

"I hadn't even noticed," I whisper back.

"I'll go grab you another one." He's gone before I can stop him.

"Thank you," Jasper says.

"For?"

"If it hadn't been for you . . . Edward wouldn't have contacted me. And from what he's told me, you've been the saving grace for his family."

I blush bright. "He's exaggerating."

He shrugs. "I call 'em as I see 'em. You're good for him. Sounds like you're the only normal, stable thing he has in his life."

Normal? Stable? I'd never associated those words with myself before; it's not so weird to think of them, though.

I lean forward on the table, as if whispering the greatest secret. "I have to ask you something."

"Shoot."

"All funny business aside…" I point to Edward with my thumb as he makes his way closer to our table. His eyes narrow. "I need some dirt on him."

"I have no dirty past; I'm as clean as a whistle."

"Oh please. The things I could tell her…"

"Please do."

Edward groans, throwing his head back dramatically. "Here we go…"

"Do you want to know about the pudding bath or the car theft?"

My jaw drops. "He stole a car?"

"No, but it was worth the lie to see your expression."

I glare at Jasper mockingly as Edward lets out a laugh.

"On that topic, though, I'm selling my old car."

"The same one you had during medical school?"

"Yeah; I thought I'd upgrade it."

"What car is it?"

"It's a Honda Civic, 2003 model."

"How much are you selling it for?" The question is out before I can think about it.

"The gas mileage isn't so good, so it's going for around three to four thousand dollars. Why; are you interested in buying?"

I shrug my shoulders. Even if I do buy it, how would I drive it back to Chicago when we have flights out for tonight? I have to meet Alice tomorrow for her birthday as well.

"You don't have a car?" Jasper asks, surprised.

"I've never really needed it in Chicago."

"What changed?"

"A friend is coming to live with me now, and she'll need the transport."

"It's parked round the corner; why don't you come and take a look at it?"

"Even if I like it, how would we get it home?" I look at Edward, contemplating.

"That's the least of your problems, darlin'. You can drive it, or maybe I can. I've driven it from Chicago to here, and maybe I can do that again, even if it just to see Esme again." He shrugs so casually, putting aside the subject as if it's normal, as if making such long trips isn't a hassle at all.

And I find myself agreeing to his nonchalant solutions.

* * *

><p><strong>Real life is unrelenting and merciless. I'll try to update as I heal from its wounds. Apologies for the delay in posting. <strong>

**As always, thank you for reading. Leave me a smile.  
><strong>


	55. Chapter 55

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Are you going back to work tomorrow?"<p>

"Mmhm."

I poke Edward with my toe in the side of his stomach. He recoils slightly, letting out a little chuckle. He grabs my foot, pulling so that it's resting in his lap. "Why?" Spending time with him undisturbed has made me needy and whiny . . . and I refuse to accept that fact.

His smirk tells me that he knows. "So I could get Christmas Eve and Christmas off."

"It's unhealthy to work so much, you know."

"I'm _working_ on it."

My bottom lip sticks out as I pout.

He pokes me in the arm, the sounds from The Avengers becoming a mere hum in the background. Emmett had picked us up from the airport, and dropped me off after cracking some jokes on our trip. The sweet smile he'd given me before the two drove back to their house showed he was happy, though; I couldn't concentrate too much on the teasing. I'd barely gotten my clothes from the trip into the washer when Edward had shown back up on the doorstep, a bunch of DVDs in his arms and a pout on his face.

"Esme kicked me out," he had explained. "Said something about presents."

Edward pulls my hand so that he can wrap his arms around me tightly, the warmth from his thin shirt seeping through his thin shirt—much better than the blanket. "You have plans with Mom, anyway."

"In the afternoon," I stress. "I like waking up next to you . . . and being warm."

"You only want me around because I'm warm?"

"And for cuddles."

His fingers dig into the soft of my stomach, tickling mercilessly. I squeal and pull away, but the way he grabs me closer makes my legs drop to either side of him, our hips pressing together, allowing me to feel that he's equally affected. I lean my forehead against his, panting. My skin flares as his gaze falls down to my heaving chest, and he moans, pushing his hand against the small of my back. I grip his shirt, pulling him closer, our breaths mingling, as if we're trying to breathe the other in.

The need to be near him hasn't dissimilated; it's gotten even stronger, maybe. Our hands brush unconsciously most of the time, and I don't hesitate anymore to initiate intimacy.

Each breath he exhales causes goose-bumps; it drives me insane to know that he's panting because of how much he wants me.

My hands find their way to his cheeks, pulling his lips to mine. The feel of his soft lips sends my heart racing, but I try to sit still as his fingers weave a design onto my back underneath my shirt. I can feel the coil in my stomach tighten, urging me to move against him to find that satisfying friction with each little shift of his nail. He pulls back, his head mere inches away, but the intensity in his eyes pleads for me to not move, and I obey. They're vividly green, swimming with wisdom and emotions that can't find a place in his expression.

I concentrate on the movement that's going on behind me.

_M_, his finger spells first. His hips lift up a little, brushing teasingly before pulling away. His other hand starts sliding the buttons of my shirt open, a kiss following deliciously on each inch of my exposed skin. A jolt of spark entwines with the sensations on my tender skin.

_I._ He slips his hand down to touch the most sensitive part of me, his fingers alternating between stroking and rubbing circles onto my clit.

_N. _My eyes slide shut as his finger slips inside of me.

_E. _I will my hand to work, pushing between our bodies to get to his sweats as the word on my back registers in my mind. No boxer barrier, I grip him tightly, relishing the sounds that vibrate between us.

.

.

"You need to buy a car," Emmett states, his expression serious.

"You've only driven me twice and you're already complaining?"

"I meant that in the sweetest way possible, Bells."

"I'm working on it." I grin as I remember Edward's words from the night before. "On acquiring a car, I mean."

"Speaking of, how did you like Jasper?"

"He's nice, and I can tell he wants his friendship with Edward back."

"He was a good friend . . ." Emmett trails off.

"Supportive," I add, trying to encourage him to say what is on his mind. There's something holding him back; his neck bends forward slightly—a sure sign of hesitancy on his part.

It takes a few minutes, but as I stay silent, he continues. "Better than I could ever be."

"Oh, Emmett."

"It's true. I was never a good brother to Edward, nor Vanessa. I ran away at the first sign of trouble."

"You were just shielding yourself. You knew how much you could take and how much you couldn't; that doesn't make you weak, Emmett. It just makes you self-preservative."

"Doesn't mean it was the right thing to do."

"Maybe not." I peek at him, his hands tight on the steering wheel and his face hard. "But what's right doesn't always constitute as good."

"If I hadn't left, I might've saved Edward a whole lot of years of therapy."

"If you hadn't left, you wouldn't have found Rose," I point out. "The things we've done in the past are left there—in the past. We shouldn't allow it to cloud our today. Edward's moved on from it all, and it's time you do, too."

He watches me from the corner of his eyes. "You need to take some of your own advice, Swan."

"I already have. A really good friend told me I'd let my past hinder my present too much, and I listened to her."

"Would I happen to know this friend?"

"Maybe," I tease. With my thumb, I point to the backseat where the chocolate cake, covered in dollops of whipped cream rests. "We are going there to celebrate her birthday."

"Will we be allowed?"

"Probably not, but this way I have an excuse to ask Lauren about Alice's assessments so far."

"When are you going to be getting an answer?"

"She'd mentioned after Alice's birthday."

His fingers tap the steering wheel, thoughtful. We fall into a comfortable silence, the hum of his jeep the only sound. I think about what he's said, a small smile flitting across my lips as I realize that I hadn't lied. Renee—_Mom_—hadn't meant for me to stop living just because she'd given up. She'd lived through her paintings; she'd lived enough to know that withering away in death wasn't the way she wanted to leave the world. I'd blamed her much too long for things that weren't even her fault. The present that I'd asked Charlie to bring—the one I'd be giving to Alice—is proof of me coming to terms with everything that has happened, and accepting it.

But something that Emmett said bothers me.

"Why do you think you weren't a good brother to Vanessa?" Granted I hadn't heard him say much about his time with her, I can't imagine him being anything but a big, teddy bear to her.

He sighs. "I buried all her pictures by her grave before I left for Washington."

"How come?"

He shrugs. "Anger? I was angry at everything for a while. I wondered why things went the way they did—and came to the conclusion that physical things weren't everything. There were things beyond that, like memories and emotions that would stay longer than anything solid. Looking at Nessie's pictures reminded me of the things she wouldn't have or experience, and remembering her made me think of the happy times. It felt right at the time."

My heart clenches at the emotions in his voice. "Then don't doubt your instincts now."

"Edward has all these memoirs of her in his room."

"I haven't seen any . . ."

He does a double-take. "You've been in his room?"

The tell-tale heat of a blush spreads up my neck. "Maybe," I squeak out.

He smirks, his eyes lighting up. He'll bring up the subject later just to embarrass me—I'm sure of it.

"Here we are," he states. "Do you want me to wait here?"

"Come with me." I nod towards the entrance with my chin.

"Okay." And I love how simple things are with him; he doesn't question me. His statement about Edward having Vanessa's photos also gives me an idea that could accompany my Christmas gift to Esme.

The entrance room is surprisingly busy, but I should've expected it; with Christmas coming up, the relatives are bringing in presents and homemade food to spend a rare minute or two with their loved ones. I keep reminding myself that not everyone is in a situation like Alice's.

Lauren waves me over from the counter, away from the small line of waiting people. Her big grin makes my chest swell with hope.

"Okay, good news and bad news."

"Bad news first," I respond. She looks at Emmett, so I introduce the two quickly and mention that he knows everything.

"You won't be able to meet her today or anytime at all until a few days after Christmas."

My face falls.

"That's only because she's in physical and behavioral training."

"Meaning?"

"A psychiatrist is trying to get her to assimilate into the 'normal' life; he's introducing her to conversations with strangers, and testing her physical strength. He needs to make a schedule for her appointments, and it's only after he examines her thoroughly that he can do that. After the schedule is arranged and agreed on by him and you, you'll be able to take her home."

"And the good news?"

"You can take her home no later than the 5th of January."

The 5th . . . which is less than two weeks.

My cheeks hurt from the wide smile, and I ignore the surroundings as I pull a startled Lauren into a hug. Her motherly instinct takes charge; she doesn't wait too long to let out a laugh and return the embrace. When I pull back, Emmett's calming hand is on my shoulder, probably suspecting that I want to squeal.

"I brought a cake for her…it's her birthday, but I want you to have it. I mean, is that okay? Are you even allowed to?"

She beams at me. "I wouldn't say no to it, and I might even be able to sneak to see her for a few seconds so that Alice can cut it herself." She winks at me. I hand her the cake, thanking her profoundly again, before pulling on Emmett's arm towards the door.

He chuckles loudly.

"Where to, ma`am?"

"Edward," I breathe out. "I have to tell him."

.

.

I can hardly wait until Emmett throws the car into 'park' before rushing towards the door. The cold wind and wet streets are barely a problem. I'd texted him earlier to meet me at the front, and as soon as I step inside, I can see the wild array of bronze hair, and I fly towards him. I launch myself at him, and he catches me at the right point just as I hug him tightly, my legs wrapping around his waist to prevent from falling backwards.

He's completely surprised when I kiss him senseless without a thought to the people watching around us.

It's only when his hands slip a little further south towards the pockets of my jeans and Emmett's loud wolf-whistle sounds that I let go, my skin from the neck up going bright pink as my feet find the floor.

Edward still looks a bit dazzled, his eyes glossy and hair worse than before.

Jessica's gaping expression adds a little more joy to my otherwise amazing day.

"I need to find myself a girlfriend who will greet me like this," Tanya sighs from behind Edward, causing him to break out of his stupor. I slide down his body as he lets go of me.

I dig my foot into the ground, looking up at him through my eyelashes, hoping like hell that he didn't mind being attacked.

"You saw Alice, I presume?" He gives me a boyish grin.

"No, but Lauren told me I can bring her home soon!"

"That's great!" He lays a kiss on my forehead. "I wish I could get off of work right now, but I'm covering for another doctor," he replies, apologetically.

"It's okay. I'm planning on dragging Emmett on some errands anyway."

"I'll see you at home?"

Home…not _your_ or _my_ home, just home.

"That sounds wonderful."

* * *

><p><strong>As always, thank you for reading. Leave me some love.<br>**


	56. Chapter 56

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>The wicked grin on Rose's face remains suspiciously permanent since she first greeted me—and it scares me more than Emmett's teasing had.<p>

Esme is brushing green paint on the wall to the left side of the fireplace, while Rose and I try to get the trunk of the painted, Christmas tree perfected—Esme would have nothing less. The sole plates lining the bottom of the drywall make it hard for me to adjust the linings, and Rose shares my thoughts as she drops her paint brush to the floor with a soft "fuck this" and rolls her hair into a messy bun at the top of her head.

We both dip our fingers into the muddy paint and stroke smooth lines across the white walls.

It's another Cullen tradition that they invited me to—and another unique one. Instead of buying their Christmas tree, they would paint it on the wall. Their tree would contain five, ornaments sized balls—seven this year to include Rose and me. They would be left bare, so that each person can paint it in their own style, at the insistence of the maternal head of the house.

Esme stands back, assessing her work with the brush jutting out from between her teeth, her hands on her hips. "Does it look even?"

Rose and I exchange a glance; it's the third time she's asked us.

"It's fine," we repeat.

Esme huffs. "There's something missing."

We grin at her, already predicting her words.

My stomach growls loudly. I'd had yogurt in the morning, but that was hours ago.

"I'll grab us something to eat!"

Rose's grin widens as she notices that we're alone. It's one thing I can be thankful for—she waited until everyone had left the room.

"So…how was New York?"

"Cold and busy."

"I bet Edward warmed you up real good."

I give her my best stink eye—it doesn't have any effect on her. "And the in-door Jacuzzi."

"You had sex in a Jacuzzi?"

I look around nervously for any eavesdroppers—namely Emmett.

"I'll take that as a yes!" She eyes me, almost looking proud. "I didn't know you had it in you."

I go back to the tree, doing a triple, unnecessary coat over the trunk.

"You used protection, right?"

I nod, my cheeks burning.

Esme's light footsteps sound across the hallway.

"Can we not talk about this, please?"

She takes pity on me and directs the subject to her husband's work.

"The construction is coming along nicely; they're just adding the windows and final touches, and then the equipment needs to be moved in."

"Do you think it'll be ready for February?" I question as Esme holds up a soft pretzel dipped in melted chocolate. I hold up my hands to show the dirty fingers in explanation.

"Hopefully. Emmett's finalized a date for the fliers and they go out starting next Monday." Rose opens her mouth to accept the bite Esme is offering. It's a cute dynamic to witness; it's easy to see being a mother is one of the most natural things to Esme.

Rosalie continues to tell us about the vision she has with the way the furniture will be arranged in the gym's lobby between bites.

The sound of the front door opening rings lightly. I peek into the hallway to see Edward carrying the box that contains Esme's gift. He tilts his head towards the stairs.

"I'm, uh, I'm going to go wash my hands." I hurry before they can ask any questions, but it's apparent from their expressions that they already know my intention.

My sock-covered-feet make no noise as I run up the stairs, towards Edward's room. He has set the box down besides the bed, and the door shuts behind me. I can feel the sparkle of anxiousness rolling off of him as he steps closer to me, placing a kiss on my shoulder.

"Let's do this," he murmurs softly, his warm breath fawning over my skin, a sharp contrast to the air.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Can you get the photo frame set up while I find the scanner?"

He rummages through his closet as I grab a pen off of the night table, tearing through the clear tape. I'd asked Edward if he'd like to give a gift to Esme along with me, and told him my plan after Emmett had mentioned Vanessa's photographs. It had taken him a day or two to come around to the idea—slowly, but surely.

Edward lets out a frustrated sigh, stomping to the wall adjacent to Emmett's and thumping on it with his fists twice.

Emmett's head peeks into the room a second later. "What's up?"

"Do you have the scanner? I can't find mine."

He gives Edward a look of curiosity before nodding, popping back into the room with a HP printer balanced on one hand. He puts it on the table by Edward's laptop, sitting down next to me. His dimples show as he grins.

"Christmas planning I take it?"

I nod. "He's going to put Vanessa's photos into a digital photo frame."

He hesitates. "Is . . . is that a good idea?"

Edward's head slumps forward slightly. "I hope so. Carlisle said that her therapy will start soon, and this might be the perfect thing to start it with."

"But?"

"But what if she reacts negatively? I don't even want to imagine . . ."

"Then don't," I reply. Their eyes shoot to me. "Don't imagine the worst. It's not like you'll be bringing up the fire. Don't you think she deserves to have some happy thoughts to hold onto instead of the grief that she'll have to go through when she relives the entire incident all over again in her therapy sessions?" I plead them to understand my thoughts. The more I think about it, the harder it gets to put into words.

As much as I can sympathize with Carlisle's way of handling things, I can't agree with them. It's gone far too long; he should've started easing Esme into the reality to shave off some extra pain.

Esme had given me a mother to care about—and in turn she treated me like her daughter. She'd filled the part of my life that had remained empty, and the least I can do for her is try to help her.

Just as Alice had helped me by telling me the truth—regardless of how I might take it or how much it would affect me.

Edward's shoulders straighten. "You're right," he says softly. "I've hidden these away for too long; it's time Vanessa's pictures find their rightful place around the house."

When he brings out the box from his closet, I move downstairs. I wanted to be surprised just like Esme will be; I don't want to see the pictures until Edward has the chosen the ones he wants to display.

And most importantly, I want to give Emmett and Edward the chance to share an intimate moment that has been missing from their life. The only thing constant and similar in their lives right now is their family and Vanessa. The former will take time to build again, but the latter…she's the glue that'll put them both together again, and make them realize that regardless of what mistake someone commits, family is the only one that will always stand by.

* * *

><p><strong>As always, thank you for reading. :)<br>**


	57. Chapter 57

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"You could come get your truck and drive it back, Bells."<p>

I wince. "I don't think it'll survive the fare. Besides, I told you I'm buying a cute little Honda Civic." I fumble through my phone to look for Jasper's text, pushing the screen near Charlie's face for the second time tonight. "See, it's perfect for me!"

His nose scrunches. "But your truck is vintage."

"And you can keep it for when I come visit you."

It placates him, and Edward squeezes my hand over the console as I turn around in the passenger seat to face the front again. He'd been amused by Charlie's oh-so-subtle hints that he wanted me to come back to Washington—for a temporary or permanent visit. It isn't that I don't want to spend time with him, it's just that I'd grown so accustomed to being alone in my own little world that I wouldn't know what to do if I went back to my childhood home.

…The only home that had ever provided a stability for me—the one that I had rejected.

I also have Alice to think of now, as well as Edward . . .

The thought of being apart from him makes my chest constrict. His place in my small world had drastically changed; from Esme's son to a friend, to someone that I couldn't foresee a tomorrow without.

And the biggest truth to me now is that I'm completely okay with depending on him.

Charlie lets out a low whistle. "The houses sure are nice."

"My parents love this area."

"How long have they been living here?"

"All their lives, sir."

"Call me Charlie. We should've met before you whisked my daughter away to a different state, but I'd like to think we're past formalities, son."

Edward's eyes crinkle at the corners, and I have to hide my smile as I notice Charlie purposely looking out the window to avoid seeing our joined hands.

The drive is slow, as Edward wants to be approved, and he is actually not exceeding the speed limit for once. As if he had anything to worry about . . .

We hurry to the front door of the Cullen house as soon as the car is in park, our hands laden with the gifts I'd packed the night before. Charlie's present is already with Esme, but I'd leave it up to him whether he would want to open it here with everyone else, or dot it later when we are back at home.

Esme has the door opened before we ring the bell, and her greeting Charlie first makes a light dust of blush spread across his cheeks. He digs his toe into the ground, returning her wishes softly.

He holds out a wine bottle. "I would've brought something more, but Bells sprung the plans onto me just an hour or two earlier."

I smile bashfully and hug Esme before Emmett sweeps me inches off the floor with a tight squeeze. Rose and Carlisle stand further behind, and the gentle smile on the latter's face is one of happiness. It's completely foreign expression on his otherwise tired face. He welcomes me and wishes me a Merry Christmas before shaking Charlie's hand firmly.

I'd told him about this family dynamic as much as I could and pleaded that he not ask any questions, especially in Esme's presence. He'd grumbled, but I'm sure that with his cop training, he'd be alert and observant to anything off line tonight.

Esme grabs the presents from Charlie's hands, and guides me to take them into the living room.

"You have a great daughter," I hear Carlisle murmur to my dad. It would've stopped me stone cold had it not been for Esme.

The sentence remains fresh on my mind and leaves me feeling a bit alienated as I take in the finished tree; which stands majestically, the light from the fireplace casting a glow against the green. The ornaments are still bare, with one more added to the mix; I frown at it in confusion before I sit between Edward and Charlie.

Dad's arm stretches across the back of the sofa, so Edward settles by putting his hand on my knee, the action so unhesitant. His fingers slide against the tight stretch of my jeans, and despite the thickness of the cloth, I can feel each little press. His pinky finger ever so slightly inches towards the seam of the jeans against the inside of my thighs, and it nearly unravels me. I thread my fingers with his in retaliation.

He pouts, his bottom lip jutting out temptingly.

"Can we open the presents now?" Emmett asks, sitting on the edge of the loveseat.

"Not until we paint," Esme replies, setting down the multicolor paint pallet on the coffee table.

Charlie's face drops a little. "Paint?"

"It's a tradition, Pops," Emmett explains. "We each paint in our circle however we want."

"I don't paint, though."

"Just paint it all blue or something."

"But…"

"Trust me." Emmett's face goes deadly serious. "It'll be less painful that way."

"He's just kidding," Edward comforts, bringing back a little more ease into Charlie's expression.

We get up turn by turn, Charlie and Carlisle waiting till the last minute. Emmett claims the top ornament, painting in a simple smiley face with killer, psychotic, looking eyes. He mock glares at me when I snicker. Rose is a little more subtle with her try at a stocking and pink, candy canes, red filling in the inside of the circle. Edward's circle makes me laugh; he'd drawn a heart along with music notes surrounding it. He wasn't being modest when he'd said he couldn't paint to save a life. Esme takes more time with hers, filling in the pale color with brushes of assorted colors; she paints swirls and bows that represent both the festivity, as well as a touch of her own personality.

I paint in purple and blue birds, much similar to the gift I'd gotten for Carlisle; perhaps because of how I saw him in this family or because I didn't know what else to get him. I'd been worried about his reaction to seeing me and my dad tonight, but there's a spark in his eyes that makes me feel comfortable.

Christmas before today consisted of Charlie trying to have some family time by opening presents in the morning with a vanilla cake and hot chocolate, and then proceeding to make small talk. We'd never get much past the initial stage, and would soon disband; me to my room to draw or read, and Charlie towards his old recliner to watch a random movie.

Here, Emmett's exuberance is contagious, and I fiddle with my hands as Charlie paints in his circle with swirls of red to represent peppermint

We all settle back down to let the paint dry. Vanessa's circle remains glaringly empty.

Conversations consist of making fun of Emmett's singing and Edward's hair color, and I do my best to protest the latter, before becoming a victim of silent laughter myself.

"Ma, can we open the gifts now?" Emmett bats his eyelashes adorably, the dimples deep as he smiles sweetly.

"Sure, unless you guys want to eat first . . ." Esme trails off.

We all shake out head in negative.

"I heard through the grapevine that you have a little gift for me," Edward murmurs, his lips against the shell of my ear.

"Rose doesn't keep anything from you, does she?" The red lacy undergarments that Angela had said just "needed to be worn on Christmas" should come as a surprise to him; they're different than anything I've ever worn before—with bows that would take apart both the bra and the boy-shorts.

"She does, but I think she only wanted to torment me. I baited that my office was better than hers, and she gave me that mental image to occupy my mind for the last two days."

"I'm not sure I want to know what you've thought of given your wild imagination."

He pouts. "And if I want to live out those fantasies?"

I pat his knee, making sure Charlie's attention is diverted elsewhere before responding, "I'm sure we can work something out."

The gifts are piled into stacks, and I'm not surprised when Esme hands a large one to Charlie. He looks uncomfortable, but accepts it graciously none-the-less.

He reads the tag before opening the festive packaging. I'd gotten him a 'Grow old with you terrarium' instead of the fishing poles. I know he's afraid that whatever connection I've tried to establish with him will dissipate because of the distance between our homes, and the terrarium looked like the perfect present to show him I'd always be here. Esme had offered to hang some solar lighting on the higher end of the bottle, just above the two figures. I'd put together a man with a fishing hook and a little girl with brunette hair holding books, looking up at the man with sticky foam. It would grow as Charlie would water, until the trees grew much too large for the bottle.

Charlie's arm squeezes around my shoulder, the bit of emotion moving.

I hand Rose hers, a painting that I'd seen in New York that had immediately reminded me of her. It's of small children with their hands over their ears, but large smiles on their faces. They represent exactly who she works with, what she works towards. And I can see in her expression that she likes my gesture.

Emmett tears open the wrap, grinning wildly at the PS3, holding up the one game the bundle included: Harry Potter. "Bella…I challenge you to a duel!"

Esme swats at him. "Later."

I smile shyly as I hand Carlisle the small box. It didn't cost much as far as money was concerned, but I couldn't find anything casual for him. He opens the paperweight, peering through the glass to look at the small nest of birds, a larger one crowding over the younger, protecting. His eyes are a bit glossy when he looks up at me to express his gratitude.

I hand Edward a wrapped envelope, enjoying the expressions dancing across his face. I'd gotten the two of us piano lessons at a small shop just a little way from his work. I'd wondered whether he played or not, but the lack of a piano at the house seemed to make the decision easy to follow.

"How…?"

"I haven't missed how you strum on my fingers when you're thinking. And I've always wanted to learn how to play an instrument."

He takes a deep breath, pulling me into him. He opens his mouth, but settles on pressing a kiss against my temples.

They give me my present, a small, rectangle box, with all of their names on it, save for Charlie. Rose stresses that I have to wait until I get home to open it, and that Edward would explain if the need arises.

The Digital Photo Frame that Edward and I got for Esme weighs heavily on the table. My eyes move to the tree and the white circle, and I try to swallow back an idea that might ruin Christmas.

Esme's delicate fingers pry open the tape. We wait with baited breaths—including my confused dad—as she plugs it in and turns it on, sitting in front of it on the ground. Pictures flash across the screen, first of her and Carlisle, and then the family. Edward had included baby photos of himself and Emmett, and some from our trip to New York. And finally, Vanessa's pictures cross the screen, from baby to when she was two and then three, slowly bringing back memories and the buried pain.

The monetary value of the frame is lost against the priceless proof that lies within the pictures.

Esme's hand is at her throat; almost as if she's choking back a sob. We wait patiently—quietly—and give her time to react. She sags back against Carlisle's legs, and her empty hand seeks his. I'd seen Carlisle protecting her before, quite literally like a brick wall to prevent any kind of grief that might overcome her, but this is the first time I'm seeing how much Esme needs him as reassurance.

And it's that epiphany that brings up my next suggestion.

"You should paint Vanessa's ornament, Esme."

Edward takes in a deep breath.

Carlisle's hand tightens on Esme's, and she stays still otherwise. Her head lifts a little, looking at him first and then at me. Her brows are furrowed, her eyes wet with unshed tears.

"Should I . . .? Wouldn't she—?"

I look up to Edward.

"I think she would've wanted you to, Mom."

Emmett and Rose nod to her in encourage.

Carlisle turns to Charlie. "Would you like any drinks? I'm sure you've noticed my wife gets a little carried away with painting."

Charlie gives a small smile, the tension from his body lifting. "Whatever you have works fine." He gets up to follow Carlisle into his study, and before the door closes, Carlisle mouths out 'thank you' to me.

Whether for making sure Charlie doesn't question about Vanessa's or helping Esme take a step out of her forged reality . . . the reason for his gesture remains unclear.

But Charlie's face shows that he's seen what I'd hope he would. I've become integrated into this family, and I'm _happy_ here. Chicago has become my _home_.

* * *

><p><strong>As always, thank you for reading. :) I found out yesterday I was nominated (still freaking out about this) and Fran (who, I've mentioned many times before, is <em>awesome<em>) beta'd this chapter fast so I could get the news out!  
><strong>

Wisps of Imperfection** is up on **The Lemonade Stand** as "**Fic of the Week**" along with other wonderful fics. Check them out and be sure to vote! **


	58. Chapter 58

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"I think it's a good idea," Charlie states as he hands me the small, purple pouch that has Renee's locket in it. "Maybe I'll get to meet this Alice next time."<p>

"I hope so."

"Take care of yourself," he says, looking just as uncomfortable as he sounds.

"I will, Dad."

"And tell Esme I said 'thanks'."

"Okay."

He adjusts his bag strap on his shoulder, his eyes darting across the packed airport. The day after Christmas had made the place rushing with workaholics, and those people unfortunate enough to not have longer leave—Charlie being one of them.

"And you make sure that Edward treats you good." His voice is stern, firm.

"You know he will."

He grunts. It's an approval if I know any.

I hug him tightly as the second call for his flight is announced. "I'll miss you. Take care, and give Sue my gift."

"She'll appreciate it." He pulls back, shuffling away, and I remain rooted in my spot as he turns to send me a wave before disappearing.

I drag my feet towards Edward, sagging against him.

Nostalgia is a cruel thing. Charlie had barely stayed a day. Even though I wouldn't want to leave Chicago, I'd miss him terribly. A selfish part of me wants to ask him to move here—and I know a large part of him would try to—but just as I wouldn't want him to guilt trip me into the move, I know I can't ask such a big thing; especially now that he's moving on. Sue makes him happy, and that's enough for me.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

I spend the next week trying to make sure Alice's room and her presents are perfect, or as near as they can be, and making good use of Edward's Christmas gift. He had waited until we were alone, the night Charlie left, for which I was glad. It was a sweet, thoughtful gift that brought me to tears.

He'd filled a small album with pictures of us from New York, and titled the empty pages with 'Date 1' to 'Date 10.'

At my confused look, he'd pointedly attached ten, colorful balloons. "Each of those has a little idea of a date inside. Whichever balloon you choose to pop, that's the date we'll go on."

The curious person that I am, I'd tried to read the tiny, crumbled papers, but it had been impossible. I'd taken to badgering him instead; however, he remained strongly mum.

So I had changed tactic.

"Why ten days?" I'd asked.

"There are ten days until you bring Alice home, I don't want to intrude on your time with her. And I had hundreds of ideas on what to get you, so I settled on the best ten. I'd been worried if you would like them or not . . ."

The amount of ideas tells me that he knows me, and the worry tells me that he cares; whether or not he knows, he's said more on how he feels for me than he has before. The memory of his thoughtful gift still brings a crazy, stupid grin on my face despite all of my efforts to push it back.

I'd also seen Angela on New Year's to give her the Victoria's Secret gift card, which she received with particular exuberance. She's spilled soon after that she and her Ben hit it off during winter break, and that new clothes would most definitely help ease some of the long-distance relationship tension.

As the 5th of January looms closer, my worry shifts towards the lack of a car. I'd texted Jasper, and he'd said he would be starting the drive early tomorrow morning.

"How good of a driver is Jasper?" I ask Edward as he chops green onion. I lean forward on the island to watch him, my palm supporting my chin.

He peeks up at me, the knife not halting. "Are you worried?"

"It's a long drive . . ."

"He used to go on road trips during the summers of our medical school; he'll be fine."

I hum in response.

He drops the chopped onion and cabbage into the sizzling frying pan, opting out of using a spatula. He turns the heat to low before leaning over the counter to kiss me softly.

"I was thinking of asking him a favor."

"Oh?"

"I had Carlisle brings out Mom's file. I want to ask Jasper if he'll be willing to take her case."

"But the commute . . ."

"Carlisle could probably move there for a month or so for the treatment or maybe Jasper could move here." He hangs his head. "Would I be asking for too much?"

There's no right answer; so instead, I try to think about the question from a neutral point. "You won't know until you ask. He's mentioned countless times how he's missed Chicago and Esme. And who knows—what if he moved to New York because he analyzed you, and knew you'd want to go back there, and if he was there, that you would contact him?"

"But is it fair to him?"

I twist my lips to the side. "I think it'll be more unfair if you just keep this question to yourself. Give him a chance, and believe that he'll tell you honestly if he doesn't want to take Esme as a patient or move here."

He sighs silently, his shoulders relaxing a little.

"Did you sign up for your next semester?"

I've become better at picking up on his habits. Edward's a little similar to me—he uses segues only in lieu of a deep thought. Unlike me, he doesn't need to be pushed to talk about his feelings; he just needs to think for awhile and come to the conclusion his own way.

"My counselor does it for me, automatically, but . . ." I hesitate. I'd been nervous about my decision, whether or not it had been right to make or not, yet it seemed to be right when I'd emailed Mr. Black about my desire to take a semester off of school. He'd been accommodating and had moved all of my spring classes to fall. "I decided to relax and take care of Alice."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." I bite down on the side of my bottom lip. "I talked to Rosalie, and she's trying to get me as a volunteer during the hours that Alice will be in therapy, just to see if Art Therapy is what I really want to do."

"And if you don't like it?"

"Then I can change my major. It's better this way," I state firmly. "I'll know if this is the right career for me, so I won't waste too much of my time if I can't handle it."

"I think you can handle just about anything, Bella." His arms come around me, the warmth of his skin seeping against mine. I don't need to convince him—and this is his way of showing it to me.

"You believe entirely too much in me."

"You don't believe in yourself as much as you ought to. I know how strong you are—you don't. Maybe when you open your present, you will."

I glance at the rectangle gift that sits on the shelf perched above the fireplace. "I'm afraid after all the things you've hinted at."

"It shouldn't scare you, but it just might be the thing that'll show you what we see, show you how strong you really are."

I pull away from him reluctantly, pulling the wrapping paper free from the adhesive resistance. It gives way to display the logo of Chicago's nearest airport on the thick, navy cover paper.

Tickets to Washington.

Two tickets to Washington.

I turn to Edward, confused. "I don't get it. Should I be scared of showing you my hometown?"

"They're for a different purpose."

"Oh god. Is there a Forks reunion that you secretly RSVP'd to?"

He lets out a chuckle through his teeth. "No, not a reunion; we're going to go visit your mom."

* * *

><p><strong>As always, thank you for reading. :)<br>**

**I am writing a one-shot for Fandom for Oklahoma. There are amazing authors who are taking time to donate their work; please consider donating! **


	59. Chapter 59

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"It's a good car, even if high on the mileage. Can't get much better for the price, though," Rosalie informs me, her voice a little muffled as she works under the hood of the car.<p>

Jasper lowered the price of the car even more after a visit with Esme. I suspect it had something to do with all the sweets she forced him to eat. He'd taken three days off of work to drive down and spend some time reacquainting himself with his home town before flying back to New York. Even though he'd vehemently invited me along to his and Edward's lunch, I'd declined. Edward needed the time to about Esme's file . . .

"As long as it lasts me a few months, I should be good."

"Are you planning on buying a new car after that?"

I shrug, even though she can't see me. "If I have a job by then, I suppose."

Her head peeks out. "How are you paying right now?"

"Renee's insurance money, and the money my step-father left me."

"Why are you worrying about working?" She sounds genuinely surprised. "If you have the money, concentrate on your studies."

"I'm not thinking about a full time job right now or anything; more like volunteering the hours that Alice will be in therapy. And I have to start working sometime, right?"

She hums. "You've filled out the forms already?"

"Yeah, in December."

"I'll see what I can do."

She drops the hood down again, pressing on it so as to hear the latch sound. "Engine is good, so you shouldn't have to worry about much except the tires. They look kind of worn out, but they'll be okay for a few months or so."

"I'll look into getting those replaced." I trail my hand across the black paint over the driver's side window. I feel nervous, the feeling gripping me tightly from the inside. Setting down roots had been the last thing on my mind when I'd first moved here, and now . . .

"I should go," she starts, wiping her hands on her black, skinny jeans. "Emmett's worried about tomorrow. I never thought Carlisle would actually insist on going to family therapy, but we'll all excited to see some results." The question of whether they would be positive or negative hangs by a thread between us; I feel like at this point, any type of response would bring hope.

She waves to me without waiting for a response, and I wait until her red sports car is turning the corner before snapping a picture of my car to send to Charlie. . .

.

.

"Jasper said he'll think about it."

"At least it's not a 'no', right?" I question, the phone clutched between my ear and my shoulder. I click away on my laptop, and I frown as I notice the few emails Aro has sent, well past the date of the final. I'd already gotten the full credits from that class, and all my work has been turned in.

Edward groans. "I miss seeing you; I thought all those dates would make it easier, but no."

I smile. His words make me feel both giddy and lonely. I hear someone call him; it's low, but audible none-the-less. "I'll see you soon."

I pop open the first email as Edward hangs up after murmuring his goodbye. Having gotten used to seeing him nearly on a daily basis, it makes the distance harder. The house feels empty, cold, and I can't wait for tomorrow so that Alice can come home.

_Hello, Bella, _

_I took the liberty of looking through your spring schedule and have noticed that you're not scheduled for Professor Marcus' class. If it is full, I can pull some strings. _

_Let me know, _

_Aro. _

I pull my lips to one side, contemplating. It rubs me weird that he'd be worrying about my schedule of all people, especially since I was the least talkative student, and the one who easily blended into the background. I'm sure the rest of the class wouldn't even recognize me as a classmate except for Esme.

I click to open the rest of the emails.

_Hello, Bella, _

_I am checking in to see if my last email got through. Are you signed up for Marcus' class? _

_Aro _

_Bella, _

_You haven't scheduled any classes. Is there a financial problem? _

_Aro _

_ Bella,_

_ I have an offer for you. Let me know if you're interested. _

_Aro_

His last email was three days ago. I'm still confused, but curious about his offer. I email him back to inquire, making a mental note to check my email more often.

The house is clean, Alice's room, as well, and her birthday present is ready, and there's honestly nothing much to do. The charcoal pencil set sitting on the dining table is mocking me, and my hands itch to draw something. Reading Aro's emails brought the memories of sketching back to me. I'd been keeping myself away from it, concentrating on painting instead, but I miss it.

I take a deep breath and grab my sketchbook and the charcoals, making my way out to the patio after grabbing a thick sweater. Just carrying the pencils is making me nervous, like I'm doing something that my dad told me specifically not to do.

I tap the end of the lightest pencil-HB-against the side of the glaringly bare paper. There are so many images going through my head, so many that I want to grab, and put onto paper, but they're all too fast-too much, and I can't grasp any to analyze. It used to be so easy . . .

After half an hour, I give up. My nose is red and stuffed, and my eyes a little watery-not entirely from the cold. . .

.

I drive slowly, letting the music play a soft hum in the background. There's a thick folder sitting on the backseat of the car that has Alice's information in it, and the small of her belongings that her parents had left with her in the trunk. She's sitting so quietly that I wouldn't even know anyone was in the passenger seat.

"Do you want to go out for dinner?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Sure. What about shopping?"

"Not tonight."

"Are you tired?"

"Yes."

I purse my lips, sighing quietly. The need to ask if she's okay is strong, the question at the tip of my tongue, but I refrain; it's the last thing she needs me asking right now. I'd give her a chance to settle in first.

I grab her bag and folder, handing her a set of the house keys. Her face lights up at the chance to open the door.

"My room?"

"Second door to the right upstairs."

"Can I go?"

"Sure. The bathroom is stocked if you want to take a bath. Chamomile scented bubble bath, too."

I pause to listen to her footsteps and the door opening before settling down into one of the chairs at the island.

I open the folder. It contains papers and papers of instructions on how to handle the situation if the patient starts acting a certain way; it tells me what signs I need to be looking out for, and when to know that I need to call in a professional. It shows Alice's progress up until her latest therapy session. I scan the notes, noticing a bright change from last month-just around the time that Lauren had told us she could come home.

I put her therapy schedule on the counter next to the fridge, somewhere I always look. Later I'll put it into my phone and schedule it for an alarm.

I grab the small cake from the fridge, push in the customary, eighteen candles, and balance it on one hand as I get her gift. It's Renee's locket, coated in soft white gold. This feels right-giving it to Alice; she'd gotten me to open my eyes and see what I'd ignored all my life. She's the one who reminded me that Renee did the best that she could with what she had, and I shouldn't have blamed her all those years.

I'm hoping to get a smile, or more than a three word answer.

And it's also a homecoming for her-more than one reason to celebrate.

* * *

><p><strong>So sorry about the wait. My finals are this coming week, but I'll have a month off after that. I'm hoping to finish this story during that time. <strong>

**If there are any mistakes in this, I apologize. My laptop screen recently shattered and working on an iPad is harder than I imagined... (This is the reason I wasn't able to reply to the reviews!) **


	60. Chapter 60

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>I rub my temples, the sharp pricks throbbing in my head. I mash my eyes shut tightly before shaking my head. The two painkillers I had earlier did nothing to dispel the headache, and I let out a moan, laying my forehead down on the cool table.<p>

Alice is upstairs sleeping; this had been her twelfth visit to her therapist, and he'd been extremely disappointed in the results; he had expected some positive conclusion from letting Alice come home.

I had, too.

She's still the same as before; she hardly talks to me, and only comes down for food. I'd spent the entire month trying to get my Alice back, but it resulted in nothing except negative. She doesn't wear Renee's necklace, although she'd shown a little excitement when I gave it to her.

It's weighing down on me. I guess I expected too much, too soon.

I'm in way over my head.

And so is Edward, if the dark circles under his eyes and his worried state are anything to go by.

He nurses the cup of black coffee, looking just as tired as I feel. Family therapy hadn't gone in the direction as they had all hoped it would. He'd told me that Carlisle still remained protective towards Esme, and with his looming, dominant presence, Esme remained much too quiet to make any type of progress. Old habits die hard, though, I suppose.

"Have you gotten any sleep?"

"Little." He groans out, running a hand through his hair; it makes his locks stand up in all angles, and I try to pat it down. His eyes shut closed. "That feels good," he whispers.

I put pressure on my fingertips. "You should sleep."

He turns to press his face into my stomach. "But I've missed you." His voice sounds so little, like a child, and I smile.

"Let's go to bed."

"But Alice . . ."

"She's already asleep."

"What if she sees us tomorrow morning?"

"She'll understand. Besides, she has to get used to you, too."

I coax him out of his seat, and he doesn't let go of my hand as we head upstairs. He sheds his work clothes, leaving him in only his boxers.

"You should bring in a shirt or two to leave here."

His eyes dart to mine, surprised.

I shrug it off, pulling down the thick comforter so we could slide in. I snuggle down close to him, the scent of his cologne calming me. His hand moves up and down my spine, soothing away the stiffness and the troubles that have been plaguing the both of us.

He startles me when he chuckles quietly.

"What?" I whisper.

"I just-I'd imagined sleep to be the last thing when I thought about being in bed with you."

I roll my eyes, nipping at his collarbone. We hadn't had much time to ourselves, but few moments were spent sneaking kisses and subtle touches would ignite an urge between us.

But we're exhausted. Both physically and mentally.

"How's Esme?"

"Quiet. You should go by to see her."

"I want to, soon."

"Did Rose give you your schedule yet?"

"No, not yet." His heart thumps against my palm.

"But once you start, you'll be even more busy."

"I'm sure I'll have breaks."

He hums. His arm tightens around me, and he's warmer than the heat from the comforter. He's safe, and he makes me feel like everything will be okay again without words.

His breathing evens out eventually, the furrowed brows relaxing. My fingers ghost across his features, feeling the softness of his lips and the roughness of his stubble. I know the past month has been hard on him, but I don't know just how hard. I can see the physical changes in him and hear the emotional changes in the way he talks. I can feel them when he clutches me tight whenever he has a second to stop by. I can feel the way he seeks a little light in this dark journey, the need for a companion when he feels the most alone.

I can't imagine how he feels lying down in bed all alone every night, the only one who's alone . . .

.

.

"Do you want to read?"

"No."

"Shopping?"

"Later."

I sigh quietly.

"Can I take a bath?"

"Do you need any help?"

"No, I got it."

"Okay."

Alice's feet make no sound as she walks upstairs on the tips of her toes. Her solace is that bathtub in her room. It's the only time she hums a little, much too quiet for me to hear, but still, it's something different from her routine.

Edward's words last night gave me an idea, and some hope. Everything changed for Alice, except for her therapist. She still has to go back to the psychiatrist ward three days a week, and that reminder of where she had been, looms over her constantly. Maybe she needs a change of doctors, too, not just a change of scenery. I want her to realize that I'd never send her back to the hospital.

It strengthens my decision.

I grab my cell phone, my finger lingering on Edward's name before I scroll down to Jasper's.

He picks up on the third ring. "Hello?"

He sounds confused.

"Hi, Jasper."

"Bella?"

"Yeah." I clear my throat. "I hope I'm not disturbing you . . ."

"No, not at all. Is everything okay?"

"Oh yeah, yeah; everything's okay. Uh, actually, I just had a question."

"Yes?"

"Did you ever decide on what Edward asked of you?"

He remains silent, and I hurry to elaborate.

"He didn't ask me to ask you; it's just that I had a question that sort of related to Edward's request, but you don't have to answer at all if you don't want to. Actually, this was a stupid idea; let's just forget about it."

"Bella, calm down." His voice is calm, and I obey unintentionally. "I'm working it over with my boss right now, but I think I've wanted to come back to Chicago for some time." He laughs lowly. "Or since Edward sent me a message on Facebook."

My heart skips a beat. "Really?"

"Really."

I bite my lip to stop the squeal of happiness.

"What was it you needed?" He doesn't ask unkindly.

"I . . . I have a friend. She, uh, she needs a . . . I need a second opinion for her." I clutch Alice's folder in my hand.

"What's her situation?"

"She lost a baby, and her parents left her under therapy."

"Fear of abandonment?"

"Yes."

"Is she a good friend to you, Bella?"

"She is."

"I'll look over her file when I get there. Is that okay?"

"Thank you so much, Jasper."

"Of course."

"Good night."

I give Alice's schedule another read, hoping, praying that Jasper agrees to help her.

* * *

><p><strong>Still on iPad, but free of school. I'm ahead in chapters now, so yay for that. :)<br>**

**Thank you for reading! Leave me a review-it makes me smile! **


	61. Chapter 61

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>The second month passes the same way. Time seems to fly, and it seems like just yesterday it was January.<p>

Alice remains aloof, Carlisle remains protective, and Edward feels more drained than ever. Angela offers me a peace of mind, and Aro has yet to reply to my email.

Jasper's temporary move was approved, and he flew in three days ago. We'd all given him the time to settle in and relax, and he's supposed to start working at Northwestern Memorial Hospital today. He would still be under the supervision of his previous boss, treating his new location as a new branch.

Family therapy for the Cullen family was put on hold as Esme refused to talk much. She refused to accept that there is another reality outside of the fantasy one in her head. Her imagination had protected her from the tremendous grief that lurked outside of those brick walls around her mind, and although Vanessa didn't grow in her fantasy, it made Esme unreceptive to anything.

Her therapist-Carlisle's friend Eleazar-was even hoping for an outburst of some kind which would at least show some sort of progress. But it never materialized.

Edward's last hope was Jasper.

And I'm beginning to feel the same way about Alice.

My knee bounces as my fingers grip the folder tightly, and I'm hoping that Jessica the receptionist has paged Edward. I can't do this without him.

"Bella?"

I breathe out a sigh of relief at seeing a familiar face. "Hi, Tanya."

She briskly walks to me and gives me a hug. "You look like shit."

"Thanks," I reply in a monotone voice.

"Does it have anything to do with the hot new doctor?"

"Maybe."

"Not leaving poor Eddie for the BMW driver, are ya?" She jabs me in the sides lightly, winking.

"You already know the model of his car?" Mirth seeps into my voice.

"I'm the eyes and the ears of this place, sweet cheeks."

"I would've never pegged you for a gossip monger, Tanya."

"You don't know half the stuff that I do in my free time. You'd be scandalized."

"I don't doubt it."

"Seriously." She checks her watch. "Are you waiting on Edward? He's going to be a few minutes, but I have my break right now; wanna catch a coffee?"

"I'm actually waiting to talk to Doctor Whitlock."

Her eyes widen, and her mouth drops in a small 'o'. "I thought you were just playing along."

"I need to talk to him about a patient." I hold up the file.

"Got it. Need me to bring you a coffee?"

"No, thank you." I smile at her.

"Don't leave without saying bye!" She waves before disappearing through the double doors.

The anxiety that had dissipated with her arrival is poking at me again, and I have to remind myself over and over that I already know Jasper.

I try not to think about the situation I'd land in if he says no.

Alice seemed a little upbeat at knowing she'd have a different doctor; I'd asked her permission about sharing her file with Jasper before coming in today.

Jessica calls me over and points me down the hall, telling me that Jasper will be waiting by the other nurse station. Her bubblegum is blue instead of pink today.

And true to her word, he is. He looks completely different from the casual person I'd seen back in New York with his white lab coat. The serious expression on his face almost makes me chuckle-it seems so forced.

"Right this way, ma'am."

His office is adjacent to Edward's; the inside is modeled the same as well, except for the fact that it's littered with boxes everywhere.

The door slides shut. "I know, it's a clusterfuck," he says, waving the talk about the mess away. "I'm still trying to get settled in."

"Did you start this morning?" I eye the empty bookshelves.

"No," he exclaims. "There's a perv out there who keeps distracting me and telling me to stack up while she stares at my 'assets'. It's been happening for the last two days!"

I burst out laughing.

His cheeks color. "I'm serious!"

"Who is this perv?"

"Some doctor. I think her name's Denali. What kind of a name is that?" His voice gets higher with each word, and I laugh even harder. My stomach hurts, and my eyes are a little teary by the time I get a hold of myself.

"Her name's actually Tanya. Denali's her last name."

His eyes widen. "You know her?"

"She's Edward's best friend. I thought you would have known her."

"We didn't run in the same circles, and now I'm glad for it!"

I pat his arm before he takes a seat in front of me. "She'll get over it."

"Doubt it," he mutters under his breath. "Did you bring the file and the records?"

I nod, sliding the thick folder to him, along with the therapy schedules. He takes a while to read thoroughly, examining the dates and times of the visits and the notes. I can hear each tick of the second hand on the clock on the right wall. There's a small window behind him, but the blinds are pulled shut-the paranoia that Tanya will watch him through there, no doubt-and the room is bathed in the sterling, white light on the ceiling. There's nothing on the walls for me to stare at, and there's nothing on the table to occupy my hands.

I fidget.

Jasper hums.

"This is interesting. How old is Mary?"

"Alice just turned 18."

"And she's living with you?" His eyebrows shoot up.

"Yes." I offer nothing else.

"Has she had any tantrums or breakdowns?"

"Nothing, and I think that's what's scaring me."

He folds his hands on the table, professional, distant. "How come?"

"She's not reacting. I'd known her before she was institutionalized, and she's nowhere near that person."

He leans forward, his voice soft, as if coaxing a young child. "You have to realize, Bella, that she probably won't be the same person as the one you knew. Things have happened, and she's changed along with them." My face must've shown my disappointment, as he adds, "But I can help with her emotional toil. We can try to get her back."

"Are you saying yes?"

He nods, a warm smile on his face. "I'm saying yes."

I shoot out of my chair, hugging him tight around the neck. He's startled, but he pats me on the back not a second later.

The door opens, and Tanya pokes her head in, her eyes going comically wide as she stares. And then she narrows them at me, shutting the door loudly behind her.

I let go of him, and stab my toe into the ground. "I should go." I point to the door with my thumb. "Thanks, Jasper."

He squeezes my arm, just above my elbow. "You're very welcome."

Tanya's standing outside, her eyes narrowed to slits and her arms crossed over her chest. Her bra peeks through the open buttons of her fancy blouse.

It's my turn to be shocked. "You like him," I whisper out.

Her cheeks tint pink. "Well, yeah. He's pretty good looking if you haven't noticed."

I grin widely.

She slaps my arm. "What were you doing in there, getting cozy with him like that?"

"I got excited." She raises an eyebrow. "Not like that. He's agreed to help my friend, that's all."

"Oh. So you're not interested in him?"

I shake my head. "I'm into this other handsome doctor that works in this hospital, if you know what I mean."

She relaxes immediately. "Okay, good. I didn't want to have to kick your butt for stealing my eye candy. And hurting Edward, of course."

"Well set priorities," I chuckle out.

She winks. "Edward's waiting for you in his office. He's got a surprised."

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	62. Chapter 62

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>I bid my farewell to Tanya, hurrying to open the door of Edward's office. The lights are off, and strong arms encircle my waist, and lift to seat me on the sturdy table. My pulse quickens as his mouth finds my throat, enticing a gasp, and when he moves to my lips, the taste of spearmint and cherry Chapstick is so familiar.<p>

This is different; in the dark room I can barely make out Edward's silhouette, but I can feel his hands running up and down the length of my thighs. My legs fall open, and he wastes no time stepping between them. We're as near as we can be, yet I fist his shirt to tug him closer to press our chests together, constricting us. The layers of clothes stick to my skin; I want nothing more than to free us of our confines.

He pulls back, barely giving me time to breathe before taking my lips hostage against his own.

And I fall back into it, a wave of heat passing against my skin.

"How long do you have?" His voice is rough, laced with the need his hands are showing to my jean clad legs.

"Not long enough," I groan out, feeling his similar response vibrate against my jawline. My hands find fixture in his hair, tugging and running through the silky strands.

The knock on the door startles us apart, our chests heaving.

"Sorry to disturb the office quickie, but I'm being called away. Might wanna finish up in there," Tanya says, her voice a little muffled, but loud.

I'm part mortified at our behavior in his office, and part turned on at his spontaneity.

"This was a nice surprise," I tell him, still breathless.

I hop off the desk on wobbly legs, knowing that I'd never be able to look at it without blushing.

He splays his hands against my stomach, his chest against my back. We walk together to the door, slowly, his lips against my shoulder. Just before I can open it, something cold touches my collarbone. I look down, extending the chain to take a closer look at Edward's present. It's a beautiful flower shaped locket, painted with white gold and adorned with crystal pink designs inside the petals. It's so delicate, and the chain is long enough to fall between my breasts.

I let my hand linger at my neck, feeling the cold of the metal against my flesh. Getting jewelry from Edward feels like so much more than any other present.

And I like what it signifies.

"Happy early Valentine's day," he murmurs against the shell of my ear, his voice soft and warm.

I steal another kiss before he gets paged, and I have to pick Alice up.

.

.

Esme is amazing.

And I admit to being a little jealous of her. Just a tiny bit.

She's talking to Alice a mile a minute, and Alice is actually into it. I can see the excitement on her face and in her voice as she goes through the family album.

I try to see the differences of attending therapy within Esme, but I find nothing; she looks the same as ever.

"That's a really pretty locket," Rosalie comments as she loads the dishwasher.

"Edward has excellent taste in everything, I guess. I still haven't figured out what to get him."

"Why didn't he wait until Valentine's day?"

"He's working, and Alice has her appointment."

"Oh, speaking of that . . ." She dries her hands on the towel draped over one of the chairs, and rummages through the purse that's on the table by the kitchen's entrance. "I have your schedule! It's for two hours on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, with two breaks."

I thank her for taking care of the schedule; I would have enough time to walk over to the hospital after checking Alice in, and I'd be able to leave a bit early to pick her back up.

We clear dinner plates and leftovers from the table. The two of us had insisted for Alice and Esme to talk while we got the ice-cream. Emmett had tricked Edward and Carlisle into going with him to a sports bar, and since they have yet to arrive, I suspect the guys' night out isn't too bad.

This certainly isn't.

It gets especially entertaining to watch the terrifying look on Jasper's face when he steps into the living room and realizes he's been ditched by his best friend.

Esme seats him down and frets over him with the leftover food, and as he declines, I hand him a small, glass bowl with chocolate ice cream.

"Where's Edward?"

"He got kidnapped," I reply solemnly.

His eyes dart from one face to another, lingering on Alice, but I chalk it up to her being a stranger to him. "By Emmett?"

"How'd you guess?"

"It wouldn't be the first time."

My heart warms at the thought that they're starting to act like their old selves again.

"Where are they?"

"Benny's, by The Loop," Rosalie answers.

I sit down by Alice, who is still watching Jasper with a peculiar look on her face. "Alice, this is Doctor Jasper," I introduce.

Her mouth drops open, and her eyes widen. She looks horrified.

"Excuse me," she squeaks, shooting out of her chair and to the bathroom down the hall.

"Did I do something?" Jasper asks.

"No," Esme replies. "I think she's just embarrassed."

"Why?" He questions.

"I think she might have a crush on you, Jasper," she teases.

My head snaps up, and Jasper's cheeks color.

He clears his throat. "Oh."

"I'm going to go talk to her." I set my bowl down on the table, but Jasper presses his hand on my knee.

"If you don't mind, may I go?"

I stare at him dumbly and nod.

Alice hasn't ever behaved like this before. I'd been nervous to bring her over to the Cullen house just in case she got uncomfortable, but after Esme's insistence and Alice's reassurance that she'd be okay, I'm glad I did. She'd gotten along with Esme impressively. Yet this . . . Rushing out of the room like this . . .

I feel guilty for introducing Jasper as a doctor, especially if Esme's assessment of her action is right.

My heart plummets when I realize that if Alice is harboring a crush already, I'd have to bear the bad news that nothing more would be able to come out of it. He's her doctor . . .

But when Jasper comes back into the room with Alice in tow, and I notice the small smile on her face with tinted pink ears, I hope for the best for her. Regardless of what that best is, or who it is with, as long as she's happy.

* * *

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	63. Chapter 63

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"This little one is Dina; she's six," Rosalie says as she makes her introductions. "Dina, this is Miss Bella. She's here to draw with you." She makes the hand gestures, but says it out loud for my sake. She hasn't been working here long, yet the kids love her; their little eyes light up when she waves to everyone.<p>

I bend at the waist and flutter my fingers. "Hi, Dina," I greet slowly, just as Rosalie had instructed. The little blonde girl's blue eyes follow my lips, and she blinks in retaliation. She's seated on the soft, carpeted floor, ignoring the tiny, plastic chairs littered in the play section. She barely acknowledges me.

Rosalie pulls up two chairs, and the two of us watch as the other volunteers trail after the psychiatrist, hanging onto every word.

"You're going to need to find a connection with them. Not each and every one of the kids; we prefer to assign three to each person."

"Do you have a degree in art?" I ask her, my mind going back to the painted Christmas tree.

She shakes her head. "No, but I've taken a year course in all things expressions, which had a small section on painting and drawing. It's not the artistic degree this field looks for, but observation skills and intuition. See, like the boy with the white teddy bear." She tilts her chin to her right, and I follow her eyesight. The boy couldn't be more than five, his black hair falling over his eyes and tucked behind his ears. "That's Damien. You need to be able to look for signs when it's the right time to try to talk to them; for example, right now his eyes are downcast and he's hugging his bear tightly-it's the sign that he's having a vulnerable moment, and it could be the worst time to prod."

I notice the whitening hands as Damien's clutch tightens. "But when he's vulnerable, wouldn't he be more willing to talk?"

"Or it could send him back to that traumatic event in his mind; he could possibly re-live it and it would get worse."

"Do I need to take psychology courses or major in that field?"

"No, but a few classes don't hurt, and the experience will shine on your resume, especially the cognitive-behavioral."

A tiny tug on my jeans brings my attention back to Dina. She holds out a plain, white paper for me along with some crayons. Had it not been for the pursed lips and sad eyes, I wouldn't have thought twice about the tiny cutie ever needing a session. I look towards Rosalie for instructions.

"You can draw with them; it'll help you bond. We also have pottery stations, painting, and some media technology. And cartoons, of course."

I smile at Dina, pointing to the walls that have colorful Disney character stickers scattered everywhere. I wait patiently until Dina points me to Cinderella before I start the outline.

"Do you want to color?" Rosalie questions and signs to the little girl.

Dina twirls a strand of her hair in her tiny hand, nodding.

"What about when the volunteers leave?"

"They don't stay long enough to get too close." I have to strain to hear Rosalie's voice. "It's a tough job, Bella. There's always the prize of knowing you helped a child, when they start getting better, but that's not always the case. Sometimes you can't do enough to help."

I take a moment to look around; there aren't too many children here, and I refuse to think whether or not there might be more waiting for their session. They're all dressed in white gowns, some with teddy bears on them and others with miniature flowers.

When I'd thought about working with children in Art Therapy, I'd imagined hopeful, and maybe, just maybe, happy children. I may have been naive to think that. It's a change of perspective, and I have a new question, a new doubt; would I be able to handle working with children, knowing that I'd never seen them while they were healthy and happy, only when they weren't well or near comatose?

Dina pulls the paper away from me, forming her own shapes and lines.

"Sometimes, the drawings can be disturbing."

"Are they scenes from what traumatized them?"

"At times. Mostly it's just how they feel. Sometimes you'll see a drawing of a noose and other times sun and rainbows."

"Oh."

"You'll work with Dina from now on, and hopefully you'll stick around." The look she gives me conveys what she means; the devastation of disappearing after the child bonds isn't something I would do.

"Do you miss your kids from Seattle?"

She smiles sadly. "Yes. The group I was working with-some of them even hugged me goodbye."

Attachment to a little life is such an easy accomplishment. I want to run my fingers through Dina's blonde hair just as I had to Edward's before, but I resist. How would she take to a stranger's touch?

"If you don't mind me asking," Rosalie starts. "Why piano lesson?"

"For Edward's Christmas present?"

"Yeah."

"Well . . . He seems to have the fingers for it."

She raises an eyebrow.

I hurry to explain. "Not like that!" I hiss out. "I meant that he's always tapping his fingers to a tune, so I asked Esme, and she told me he had an interest in music before things happened. So I figured, why not?"

"Really?" She's giving me the look, the one that tells me that she doesn't believe a word I'm saying and wants the truth.

I shrug. "I never, uh, thought I could feel with my heart before I met Edward. I tried. And he taught me that it was possible to feel with both the heart and the body. I just wanted to show him that."

Emotions flicker across her expression, but she doesn't really understand. As much as she wants to, she doesn't; she's never been in my place, never in my shoes. She's never experienced what I have-or has experienced what I hadn't.

I watch Dina work for the rest of my time spent there; Rosalie lets me go early, insisting that I take it easy since it's my first day.

It gives me enough time to change for Edward's present.

.

.

"You will have extra time, then?" Edward kisses my fingers, his body still against mine. His weight is comforting. He shifts to put his weight on his elbows, and I take a moment to see the 'v' of his hips, and let a finger trail down along his treasure line. He shudders, pressing his forehead against mine.

I'm pretty much in love with his desk; it's super sturdy, and the fact that the walls are thick is a plus.

"Yup," I reply, still lost in the bliss. He'd let it slip that one of his fantasies involved his office, and he'd hinted that would be his ideal valentine. I didn't understand it at first, thinking it would be so much less next to what he'd given me, until Rosalie explained that matching the price of the gift isn't as important as matching the value of them.

"Who should I thank?"

He traces the distinct designs on the locket, letting his hand graze the underside of my breast.

"Um, Jasper, I think," I stutter out incoherently, still lost in the tune of his fingers that tug at my nipple. His mouth replaces his hand and he slowly starts descending towards my navel. His breath is hot against my sweaty skin, making my stomach clench in anticipation.

The heat wave over my skin makes me pant, tension coiling at the pit of my stomach.

"And piano lessons?" he whispers, his breath caressing my sensitive flesh.

"Appointment . . . made."

When I feel him lay a kiss just above the bundle of nerves, I throw my arm to cover my eyes.

"You okay?"

"I don't think I'll be able to look at you after this."

He settles his chin on my skin, and my hips twitch. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No."

* * *

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	64. Chapter 64

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Aro's response doesn't come in the form of an email, but rather an invitation to one of his gallery openings. It leaves me confused. The date isn't until summer; the note to RSVP at the bottom has a deadline that ends this month. The paper is thick, expensive, and my initial reaction is to ignore it.<p>

Yet I'm still curious about what he has in mind; I have been carrying the envelope around with me since it arrived last week. I clutch the paper as I wait for Tanya to come back with coffee. The strong smell reminds me of the Cafe by SAIC, and the breaks during classes which were spent getting to know Angela and texting Edward.

I fire a message off to Angela, hoping that she's not sleeping. Her full term classes keep her busy during the day and her night job as a bartender commandeers the rest of her time. We try to talk, but it's different than seeing each other face to face.

I never thought I'd get attached to her like this. I fold the invitation and put it in my bag; I'd think about it later. And I'd ask Edward about it later, too; I can't look at his desk, or step into his office without blushing, and since Tanya's attached herself to my side today, she'd know with just one look at my face.

"Cappuccino for you, black coffee for me, and juice for the Blondie."

"You're a blonde too." Rosalie narrows her eyes at Tanya. She takes a seat next to me, leaving just the one across from us open.

"But when I say it to you, it's meant to come off as insulting."

Rosalie's lips pull over her teeth.

"Thank you," I interrupt, trying to stop the two from butting heads.

The cafeteria is relatively empty besides the three of us. Tanya had just finished her first round of patients and had found me in the children's ward. She stated that she needed her energy if she was going to be herding medical school students for the rest of the day during their clinical rotations. I'd invited Rosalie to tag along, which didn't serve to be the best idea. The two couldn't find a solid ground.

Tanya moans, sipping her coffee in deep pulls. "I hate these rotations. You'd think they would act older than five years trying to get their first turn at the little Homer Simpson operation game."

I snicker. "I think you'll do fine."

"If I don't blow my head off in anger."

Rosalie rolls her eyes. "You make it sound like it's the worst job in the world."

Tanya gapes at her. "That's because it is! It's like you're supervising a bunch of five year olds at a birthday party."

"You don't like kids?" I ask.

"I like 'em before they grow old enough to talk back." She makes a face, her expression contorting. "I don't have enough patience to deal with the teenage phases."

"Yet, you're a doctor," Rosalie comments dryly.

"Exactly! I only have so much self-control after working with the students."

Rose rolls her eyes towards me, shaking her head. I try not to smile, because I can see Tanya's doing it on purpose to get under her skin.

Her expression turns serious as she leans her elbows on the table to get closer to us. "How is Esme?"

"Coping. I think she's trying to piece things together, but she's also trying to hold back the memories. At least that's what Jasper says. He thinks she's starting to realize that she's living in an alternate reality, and she's afraid of it all.

"I can imagine," I reply softly. I'd seen little of her in the last two months; she'd looked the same until her therapy started with Jasper. Then she started to lose herself in her own thoughts; dark circles remained prominent under her eyes, and she'd looked thinner, more fragile, as if the slightest wind would knock her off her feet. She would keep quiet with me, wrapping her arms around herself as if to hold it together. The only person she seemed to talk to was Alice.

It wore on everyone in negative.

Alice's transfer hadn't been much of a hassle; Jasper filled forms and had her information sent over. I'd never seen her look so content at heading to a therapy session as she had today.

"How is Carlisle?" Tanya questions and I mentally thank her for asking. I'd been curious about him too, but I couldn't find the words to ask.

"He's him, protective, trying to shield Esme from the worst."

"It's going to take some time for things to change. You believed he was doing the right thing, too," Tanya accuses.

Rosalie sighs heavily, opting to keep quiet.

We go mum once again, as the door of the cafeteria opens, and a few of the nurses pour in for a warm cup of coffee. They wave to us, and surprisingly, most of them are familiar to me.

"We should go out for drinks after our shifts with them," Tanya suggests. "I miss Patron."

"Have they invited you?" I cock up an eyebrow.

"And the two of you."

"Next time. I'm being held hostage tonight with them." I point to Rosalie with my thumb.

Tanya's mouth drops open a tiny bit. "I forgot! Edward invited me, too!"

Rosalie's expression falls into one of mock sour. "Oh no."

"Well, I was going to decline initially, but then he invited Dr. Good Looking along, and I couldn't resist," she simpers.

I laugh, quieting it down to small coughs when Tanya glares at me.

"Don't you dare say anything."

I hold up my hands. "I didn't."

"Besides," she continues, "I'm wearing my best bra and shirt today. He can't resist me." She cups her breasts over her lab coat, pushing them together before winking at us.

Even Rosalie can't stop the giggles.

.

.

I'd seen people get drunk before and behave like they usually wouldn't, but I'd never thought Edward would be like that. He's had wine with me before, yet after polishing off two glasses of Scotch, he's got this stupid grin on his face that suggests he's tipsy.

And handsy.

"Let's dance."

"I can't dance," I reply honestly, my voice lost among the noise.

We're at one of the new clubs in the upper town area: Carnal Desire. Despite the raunchy name, it's a decent club that plays on Lady Gaga's meat dress gag. One of the family members of the owner recently signed up to join Emmett's gym and gave him a personal invite. It's his new, favorite club, apparently. He'd laughed loudly at the meat-designed furniture settled around the dance floor.

I'm not as uncomfortable in the dress Rosalie pushed me into as I thought I would be, especially after seeing Edward's open-mouth reaction to it. The sleeveless, beige dress with scattered polka dots on the bottom is much more subdued than what the other girls here are wearing. I'm sure no one would look twice at me.

"Let's get some shots into you and I'll show you how to party properly." Edward winks as he passes by me, making sure to let his fingertips graze my hand.

I'd never thought a simple touch could flare desire like this.

Emmett leans over the table towards me. "How do you like it?" He yells over. "Finally popped your club cherry!"

I look at him wide eyed as Tanya snickers. "I don't think the rest of Chicago heard you yet, Em," I tell him dryly. "And it's okay, I guess. I don't know what I was expecting. Let's not forget that I just turned twenty-one." I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him, but I settle for a smirk instead.

Edward slips in besides me, his arm automatically going around my shoulder. "A shot of Patron for everyone."

"Wait! You have to give her the proper experience!" Tanya squeals from my right side. "Get shots of Corazon first so she can taste the difference!"

Edward shakes his head a little at his best friend's antics, but complies nonetheless. I miss the weight of his arm. He puts down another round of shots after a few minutes, the round tray supporting lime wedges and salt in different bowls.

Tanya leans in to whisper in my ear. "This type of tequila may be hard to swallow, but you'll have your boy with his tongue out in seconds." Her eyes connect with Rosalie's, both nodding to each other in understanding.

They lock their gaze on their preys, lifting their arm to suck on the inner wrist. They pour a patch of salt to cover the wet area, leaving a lemon wedge between their index finger and thumb.

Emmett's already a goner, but I can see Jasper having a hard time looking away from Tanya's lips.

The girls lick the salt, downing their shots before biting into the lime wedges.

"Your turn," Edward whispers, his breath fanning across my shoulder blades.

When I look into his darkening eyes, I want to do it. I want to know if Tanya's right. I want to see his reaction. Most of all, I want his eyes to be only on me; I don't care about anyone else anymore. I want his entire focus on me.

But instead of licking my own hand, I grab his. He raises his eyebrows, his eyelids lowering ever so slightly, but he lets me fold up the black sleeve of his shirt. He didn't wear the tie, and I sort of miss it. I turn his palm upward, letting my mouth close in on the side of his wrist, my teeth grazing his skin lightly before sucking.

His reaction is instant. His other hand finds my bare knee, and his fingers press in. His breathing deepens.

I feel satisfaction and triumph course through me.

I pour the salt on his skin, looking away from him for only that one second. The heat of the tequila shot as it goes down my throat is no match for the fire in his eyes. He looks like he wants to devour me right here, as if he wants to strip away every little thing that separates us and let the two of us unravel before we gather ourselves, mushing each other into our own little riddle. Almost as if we're pieces of two very different puzzles that seem to fit together.

Thumping on the table brings us out of our reverie.

"Sorry." Emmett smiles sheepishly. "I was trying to get the table cleared." He shrugs towards the waitress.

"Wow," Tanya murmurs next to me. "What kind of control does Edward have? If you did that to me, I'd be changing my sexual orientation faster than I can down those shots!"

I sputter, my cheeks firing red. "Tanya!" The buzz in my head is more from the high of putting a crazed look in Edward's eyes rather than the alcohol.

"Maybe I should try that with Jasper."

Edward tugs my hand, pulling me out of the booth. "I do believe you owe me a dance."

"But Edward, I can't dance."

"I'll teach you. I won't lead you wrong."

.

.

"Where is she?"

"She's sleeping upstairs, in the guest room," Esme explains, a small smile on her face. She'd been kind enough to offer to keep Alice company tonight, and had practically pushed me out of the house after I'd started making excuses. "You should go to bed, too; it's pretty late."

Esme looks sort of content tonight. I can see the glimpse of the old her again, the one that smiled even through the web of lies, and reached out to me when she didn't to others. I wrap my arms tight around her before I know what I'm doing, and after a momentary shock, she embraces me back. Her touch is so motherly, so soft as if she's afraid she'll break me, yet firm as if she'll hold me to her and never let go.

I blink the tears away.

She pulls away, putting a hand on my cheek. "Go. I don't think Edward's going to go to bed until you're there anyway."

I bid goodnight to her, heading upstairs to check on Alice. I find her sleeping peacefully, a purple comforter pulled up to her chin. I whisper a soft 'g'night' to her as well before making my way to Edward's room. He's in the bathroom, but he's already left out a shirt for me to wear. I shrug out of the dress and my bra, tugging on the large shirt. It falls down my thighs and smells like heaven.

He opens the door to let me in to wash the makeup off of my face before the two of us slide into his bed.

I've never been in the same bed as him under this roof.

Our eyes are locked, hands folded beneath our cheeks on the pillow.

"I wanna christen this bed with you, but I'm afraid I'm not working right at the moment."

I snort, pushing my hand against my mouth to stop the laughter. Drunk Edward is also open Edward. I love this side of him. "You'll be fine by tomorrow."

Edward blinks sleepily at me. "You're so pretty."

I bite the sides of my cheeks to stop the stupid grin that doesn't want to leave me tonight. "You've told me that before."

"I don't say it enough. And you have gorgeous legs. I love your legs. And you're really caring. You make people smile."

I blink back at him, silent.

"It's true," he continues. "You didn't want to go to a club, but you did for Emmett."

"It wasn't that bad, and I didn't want to spoil their fun."

"I wish I was more like Emmett."

"How so?"

"He's outgoing. He's happy and loud and funny, and I can't be like that because I have a reputation to uphold."

"Who said?"

"Carlisle used to say that all the time. Said that being open made it easier for people to take advantage of you."

"He doesn't say it anymore?"

Edward shakes his head, his hair bouncing to fall over his forehead. He looks boyishly young with his slow grin, much like how I imagine the eighteen year old Edward.

"Maybe that means that you don't have to adhere by his rules and morals anymore," I whisper.

His eyes widen. "You think?"

I nod.

He grabs my hand, holding it close to his chest. "You changed him." He laughs through his nose. "You changed everyone, actually."

"I didn't do anything."

He shakes his head adamantly. "Yes you did. You don't see it, but you're good. You make people around you want to be good. You accepted Esme, and me, with baggage and all."

"Edward-"

"No, really. Anyone else would've run in the opposite direction, but not you. You stayed."

"I can't walk away." And it's true. Despite knowing full well that things could take a turn for the worse, I can't walk away; I'm in far too deep. "You took me with my baggage too."

"But you've let go of everything, and my issues are just resurfacing."

"We'll face them together."

"I love that about you, too."

Those words whispered so innocently knock the breath out of me. It takes a minute for me to register that I want to say I love him, too; I want to tell him, but I wait. Part of me is hoping that he'll say it again when he's sober, and I'll be relieved of putting myself at risk, and the other part of me wants to wait until he's fully aware to remember the declaration and be the first to announce it.

_You're not even worried that you're in love with him? _

I laugh to myself. I feel light, my toes curling in a numbing pleasure. There's no other feeling that I want to experience, nowhere else I'd rather be right now. Even with the issues that'll probably rear their ugly heads in the near future, this is perfect. I'm still healing, and he's barely beginning to toe the process, whatever this is between us is perfect.

"You believe that, don't you?"

Reassurance; he needs reassurance. The war waged in him about what's right and what's wrong for years, I realize. From the absence of parental guidance at the tender age when he was stepping into adulthood made him doubt himself. Keeping his emotions in check, along with his aloof manner was the result of Carlisle's mentoring him to become the perfect puppet. Just like he needed a little push when he shared his thoughts about asking Jasper to become Esme's therapist, he needs a little push here too. I ignore the anger; I refuse to go on my own conclusions and judge without consulting Carlisle even once again.

And I pray that Edward remembers this conversation tomorrow.

"I believe it; I believe you."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading. Leave me a review or a smile. <strong>


	65. Chapter 65

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Jasper groans, his forehead against the cool of the steel cabinet door. I feel a little sorry for him.<p>

"Is there something I can make you?"

"A glass of whiskey?"

I tut at him. "I doubt more alcohol is the answer."

He looks accusingly at me. "How come you're not hung over?"

"I had just one shot yesterday. How much did you drink?"

"Too much. Enough that I gave your friend the wrong idea, I think."

"You lead Tanya on?"

"Unintentionally! I didn't know what I was doing."

"What time did you get home?"

"I don't even know. Emmett had to put me to bed."

I snicker.

"Shut it," he whines.

I shrug. "You should've left when we did."

"I didn't exactly have a night like yours planned."

I try not to blush, busying myself in making omelets. I couldn't sleep as well as I would've liked to since I was in a new place. And, as Edward is still sleeping, I didn't want him to be troubled with making breakfast, so I started. I didn't expect to find Jasper curled up on the sofa, clutching at his head after failing to find painkillers.

"Do you want me to put on some coffee?"

"Yes, please," he moans. "Make it strong. Edward will need it, too; I bet he had a long night last night."

"I wonder if Tanya is coming over for breakfast," I bite out, watching in satisfaction as he pales further.

"I hope not. There are only so many times I can say no."

I laugh as I scoop coffee into the filter before turning it on. "Why not just give in?"

"Well, we work in the same hospital for one. If things don't work out, it will be hell passing her every day at work."

"Why're you thinking of the negative side of things? What if it does work out?"

His expression relaxes, his forehead smoothing out. He looks like he's almost imagining things working out, or maybe he's thinking about how things could go wrong. I can finally see how Edward and Jasper had been best friends. They're both over-thinkers. They conjure up the ending of something good, and all the wrong possibilities before heading into something.

I wonder if Edward thought about it before he kissed me. I shake the thought away.

"I guess." Doubt is still present in his voice, but it has something more; almost wistful thinking. "Maybe I'll ask her out, if she stops swatting my ass every time she sees me."

I purse my lips to stop the giggles. I pour him his coffee, going back to finishing up the breakfast. I put the fruit I found in the fridge on the table, watching the hand of the clock turn to eight. Wordlessly finishing his coffee, Jasper starts helping me set the table before bringing out a plate of bacon from the fridge.

"Go sit. I got this," he insists.

"You just want to take credit for it all," I tease.

"Caught me red handed," he says with a wink.

I pop a grape in my mouth as Edward shuffles in, going straight for the coffee. I watch the muscles in his back contort as he reaches into the cupboards for a cup, nursing the coffee with his eyes closed. The light from the window above the sink sends shadows into the edges of his abs, casting him in an almost god-like light. I'd always felt his hard, lean shape when he had been against me, but I'd never seen him like this, never observed each dip and edge of his front like this.

"Good morning to you, too," Jasper greets, breaking me out of my stupor.

Edward narrows his eyes into small slits, brows pulled together tightly. "What're you doing here?"

"Well, he swung by this morning, and I really hope I won't have to answer that question."

A smile spreads on his lips. "Hi," he whispers, moving to sit next to me. "I missed you this morning."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Must've done something wrong, Ed," Jasper quips.

Edward growls low in his throat.

"Oh," I exaggerate. "So this is what Tanya meant when she said you two had a lot in common!"

Jasper freezes, the hand holding the spatula halting over the sizzling pan. "How so?" He asks, eyes narrowed.

"Both of your minds are only on one thing: sex." I shrug, enjoying the light blush that spreads across Jasper's cheeks. Edward's naked chest vibrates against my arm with his silent laugh.

He leans his forehead against my shoulder, his eyes falling shut once again. The smell of bacon wafts across the kitchen, making my stomach rumble. Emmett and Rosalie stumble in, sleep heavy in their eyes, followed by Esme and Alice. They're all in their pajamas, with the exception of Jasper and me. I'd worn the jeans and shirt that I'd come in yesterday before Rosalie forced me into a dress.

"Hi," Alice greets us all quietly, looking at everyone but Edward. He realizes his mistake immediately and excuses himself. Alice smiles at him shyly when he comes back with a black, button down, leaving the top two buttons open to let his pale skin peek through, in complete contrast.

Jasper puts down a plate filled with bacon in the middle of the table, taking the seat next to me so the one opposite of Esme remains empty for Carlisle. Rose and Emmett sit next to Alice on the other side, in front of Edward and me.

"You didn't have to make all of this, Jasper," Esme starts.

Jasper winks at Bella before answering, "It was my pleasure, ma'am."

Edward narrows his eyes at him. "You don't cook."

"What-slander! Of course I can cook," he replies in a scandalized tone.

Edward uses the side of his fork to cut the corner of the omelet on my plate, chewing on it thoughtfully. His eyebrows go up, and he looks at me for confirmation. I shrug in response.

Esme watches curiously.

Carlisle's heavy footsteps sound as he makes his way down the stairs, a dozen files clutched at his side. He looks up, doing a double-take before settling into his seat slowly. A smile tugs at his lips. "What's all this?"

"Jasper made breakfast," Esme announces to him softly.

Jasper's playful prank crumbles under Carlisle's stare, and he rubs the back of his neck. "Actually, uh, I just helped with the bacon. Bella did the rest."

Esme tuts at him, a tiny grin gracing her lips, and Jasper eventually stops fidgeting. Rosalie pulls me and Edward into a conversation as Esme helps Alice with her plate. Her hands are shaking as she delicately balances fruit on a serving fork. It worries me, but I don't ask in fear that the small smile will disappear.

It's a loud and messy breakfast, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Even Carlisle joins in on the chatter.

It feels so normal.

And, I feel so light, happy.

Jasper leans in to whisper in my ear. "How long have Esme and Alice known each other?"

"A month or two; why?"

"Tell me that you see what I'm seeing right now."

I follow his eyesight to Alice, watching her face light up at whatever topic they're discussing. Esme doesn't make her feel as if she's a little kid, or something's wrong with her; she's treating Alice just as she would me. And Alice . . . Alice makes Esme's face shine with the happiness that has been vacant.

"What're you thinking of, Jasper?"

"I'm thinking that they're helping each other more than I can."

I put down my fork and knife, no longer hungry. Carlisle thanks me for the breakfast, squeezing my shoulder before kissing Esme's cheek. He waves his farewells before leaving for work, and Rosalie eventually leaves to take a shower.

Edward, Jasper, and I stay at the table as Esme gives Alice a tour of the grounds outside, and Emmett gets ready for his training sessions at the gym with his new clients.

I turn to the blond doctor as soon as everyone is out of earshot. "What did you mean?"

"You saw, right?" He extends his neck to look at Edward from above my head. "You can't deny that Esme's happy. Have you seen her smile at anything like that since therapy started?"

Edward turns his hand through his hair.

"Look, I'm not saying that I don't want to help them. I just see an alternate, a better way of therapy."

"Which would be?" I ask.

"Group therapy. It's easier on each patient's mind as they realize that they're not alone in their situation."

"But . . . Their situations are different."

"This isn't like AA. We could start off with having Esme and Alice in the same group, let them hear what other people are going through, and then I can work with the two of them. They have to understand that they're not outcasts. Despite having different situations, the emotions are similar. I think they are good for each other."

I bite my bottom lip, wondering if it would be an ideal situation. I look to Edward, gauging his reaction.

"Bella?" Rosalie calls from the stairs, buttoning up her shirt. Her hair is pin straight today, a change from the usual bouncy curls. "I need help. I can't get the back strands as straight as the sides." Her bottom lip pokes out a little in a pout.

I let her pull me up the stairs to her bathroom, the smell of plastic and heat prominent. I grab her straightener, looking at her nonchalantly as she towers a good few inches above me. Her mouth drops into a small 'o' before she daintily takes a seat on the closed toilet seat.

I take a section from the back of her head, careful not to burn her hair or her neck. She shows me the pictures from her and Emmett's road-trip from Washington every time I put the straightener down, and we giggle together at all the antics he had pulled. There's one where he's holding himself sideways just with his hands, and he has a mock horrified expression on his face as if the wind was blowing him away. She shows me the apartment they lived in, the gym that Emmett worked in, and the children that she worked with. Her voice takes on a wistful tone when she talks about the kids.

"Do you need a ride to the hospital? We can carpool."

I shake my head. "Alice and I are going home first; we need a change of clothes."

She nods, remaining as still as possible as I finish up. "Thanks, Bella." She squeezes my arm, stepping into her closet, to look for a pair of heels.

I skip downstairs in my socks, wandering back to the kitchen. Edward and Jasper are standing opposite each other, their arms crossed over their chests.

"Staring contest?" I ask. "Can I join?"

"I was just leaving; I need to get ready," Jasper mutters.

"No," Edward starts. "Don't you think that Bella needs to know, too? I think she'll agree with me."

"She'd agree if what you're insinuating is right."

"Which would be?" I interrupt.

"I think he needs to ease up with the flirting."

I blink at Edward.

"I'm just being kind to her!"

"That might be it for you, but I think she's starting to see it as something more."

"I assure you it was not my intention to give her that idea."

I step between them. "Hey, listen-"

"Do you see the way she looks at you?"

"I don't have the habit of reading too much into it," Jasper snarls.

"Hey!" My firm yell catches their attention. "I appreciate your concern, Edward, but I think Jasper is right. Alice probably doesn't understand what she feels, and it's been awhile since she's talked to others who are kind." Jasper smiles humorlessly; however, my next statement wipes it away. "Though Esme thinks she has a crush on you too, Jasper."

He rubs his palms over his face roughly.

I try to soothe him-the both of them-the best I can. "It's not serious, at least I hope not. She'll grow out of it."

"I hope so. I need a shower," he mutters, trudging away.

I turn to Edward. "Why would you bring it up with him right now?"

He gives me a wounded look.

"Not that I'm not grateful. . ."

"I was worried; not only for the fact that doctor-patient relationships cannot happen, but what if it hurts her beyond repair?"

I want to grab him and kiss him for his concern about Alice, and since there's nothing and nobody stopping me, I do just that. While I have him wedged between me and the cold counter, I have this sudden burst of emotion-emotion so powerful that I want to tell him how much I love him . . . right here and now.

I freeze, my eyes wide open and my lips still against him.

He peeks with one eye when I don't respond, and he's the first to pull away. "Should I be worried that you're miles away while kissing me?"

I shake my head, so fast that I can feel the coming of a headache. "I love that you're thinking of Alice's well-being enough to even anger your best friend."

"She's grown on me." He shrugs it off, but I feel like there's more to the statement than he's letting on.

I grin widely at him.

He rolls his eyes, pulling me after him, muttering about another nap.

"Besides," I draw out. "I think I convinced him that Tanya's not a psychopath, and he should totally give her a chance."

He laughs loudly. "She's going to eat him alive."

I wink at him. "I know, but he might just enjoy it."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading. Leave me a review. :) <strong>


	66. Chapter 66

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"We've never celebrated Easter before, Dad." It's not that we're not religious, but Charlie's never been the type to have crucifixes on the walls or go to church every Sunday. I know he goes in the morning before heading into work at times, but never on Sundays regularly.<p>

"I figured you could visit or something."

I gnaw on my bottom lip. "I would love to, Dad, but Alice . . ."

"She can come with you."

"She has her group therapy sessions, and they're really helping her. I don't want to jeopardize anything by missing a meeting."

"It's good to hear she's getting better. Would it be okay for me to visit?"

"Of course, you don't have to ask."

He hesitates briefly. "What about Sue?"

I raise my eyebrows even though he can't see me. "She's welcome, too."

"We could stay at a nearby hotel or something. You don't have enough room, and that way we won't be a burden." He continues on for a bit more, his mumbling eventually repeating the things he's already said.

I'm more than a little amused. "Dad," I start, "you do have a room here; Sue and you could share."

He makes a sound equivalent to choking and quiets immediately afterwards.

I smirk to myself as I want patiently for his response.

"Well . . . if that's okay . . . with you."

"It is, Dad. When are you planning on getting the tickets?" I ask. "I can pick you up."

We talk for a while more, with him telling me about his work, and Sue's daughter, Leah. He asks about Esme and Edward, as well as Carlisle, which is surprising. I shouldn't be-since they did have a nice chat, along with some alcohol in the study after all.

"Don't think too badly of him, Bells. He was doing what he thought would protect his wife. It wasn't right, but it was a tough situation," are his parting words before he bids me a farewell.

His words remain on my mind as Alice sits on the island stool, watching me bake. Although she doesn't talk to me, this is progress.

"Bella?"

"Hm?"

"Can we go shopping?"

I freeze, the brownie mix halfway in the oven. I turn to look at her warily, but she's sitting so nonchalantly with her hands folded neatly on her lap, clutching the small flip phone.

"I like Rosalie's phone," she continues.

"Her iPhone?"

"Yeah." She nods. "I like how there aren't any buttons."

"We can go check them out today."

"I don't know how to use them."

"Rosalie can help."

"Does that mean we can go to their house?"

"Maybe; do you want to see Esme?"

She nods. "She's really nice."

I smile. "She is."

"Is Edward nice?"

I switch the oven on. Instead of a typical breakfast morning, I had tossed the idea of a morning filled with sugar to Alice as a fun change, and she had readily agreed. "Very nice."

"Why doesn't he like me?"

I wipe my hands on my jeans before taking a seat across from Alice. I figured a conversation regarding Edward would come up soon, but I'd never thought it would have her doubt him in this way. I can't think of any anything that would lead her to thinking like this.

"Why do you say that?"

"He doesn't stay around, and leaves early."

"He just doesn't want to intrude."

"I don't understand."

I rack up explanations in my mind. "He feels as if you and I need to spend time together."

"We do. Every day."

Ouch. "Does it bother you?"

"No. But you and Edward are like a package deal, right?"

I blink back at her blankly, my mouth opening and closing without any words coming out. Weren't those the exact words of how I described Alice and me a few months ago?

A package deal.

She swings her legs a little, the patent black of her flats shining against the light pouring in from the window. I can't see the insecurity of a young girl who was trying to find happiness in the littlest of things, but I feel like the girl in front of me has matured through experience beyond her years. Even though she's hurting and trying to heal, she's gotten the wisdom to scrutinize the situations in a different way than me.

"He should live with us," she suggests, and I choke on air.

"That's a little too soon, don't you think?"

"No. Not when you're in love. Isn't that how it happens in books?"

I chuckle. "Who are you and what have you done with my Alice?" I bump my shoulder against hers to convey that I'm just joking good-naturedly.

"Esme says she's growing up," she replies softly.

I contemplate Alice's words as I clean up the kitchen counter, the white rag picking up the spilled dots of batter and crumbs. While she does make a good point-why push off the inevitable?-I want to move ahead only when I feel completely confident. I don't want even an inkling of doubt in that decision.

And I doubt Charlie needs the sudden news of me moving in with a man I met a little over half a year ago.

.

.

"I brought wine," Edward announces to Alice, who is peeking her head to the side from behind me. She keeps pulling down the long shirt over her leggings. Edward's gift makes me smile a little, and that smile curls back to show teeth as I try to give him a stern glance. He holds up a box of assorted fruits in his free hand. "And fruit."

"I like berries," Alice states.

"There is a Garden Patch Farm a little under an hour's drive from here; the owners let you pick your own fresh fruit," he suggests.

"I want to go."

"The berries come into season in May; we'll go then."

"We?"

"All of us." Edward nods while taking off his thick, onyx black coat. The only time I'd seen him wearing that was when he's had a meeting with the directors, or with his patients-it's probably the former since his mood isn't too somber. "Fresh ones taste better in wine, too." He chuckles when I scrunch up my nose; I'm still not a big fan of it.

Alice seems to falter before bracing her shoulders, reaching out to grab a hold of Edward's hand, leading him into the living room. She's making the effort to convince him she's not fragile-an effort that I can tell he greatly appreciates. "Where's Esme?"

"At home," he responds just as softly, tilting his head at me to the seat next to him.

"Oh."

"Don't be so disappointed; she's working on something special, just for you."

"Did Esme say which paint she needed?" I interrupt, giving the two a sheepish look. I'd received a call from Esme just minutes before Edward's arrival, asking whether I had a specific color of oil paint. I still had supplies left over from Aro's class materials, and I could gather the ones she needed while the two talked.

"Raw amber, I think?" He doesn't phrase it as a statement.

"Raw umber."

He nods. "Yeah, that, and something called 'Ivory Black', which, by the way, makes no sense since the two are contradictory. Are they different paints or is it just an inconsistent name?"

I laugh at his rambling. "Ivory black is a name for one paint color. Does she have the brushes?"

"She has everything but those two colors."

"Can I see?" Alice asks.

"Of course, though Mom's not allowing anyone into her painting room right now."

"Not even me?" Alice's voice is low and sad, and Edward's eyes lock onto mine.

"Not this time. You don't want to spoil your surprise, do you?" he teases.

I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding in, when Alice's expression relaxes. I'd been thinking of using her alone times as explanations on how the painting room is Esme's solace, yet Edward has her consoled with just one sentence. It's a moment where his elder-brother qualities shine through.

Maybe that's what I was missing; the reason he feels so overprotective over her is because he's been the older brother once. I can imagine him fretting over Vanessa as well, even if she were younger than Alice is.

I squeeze Edward's shoulder as he answers all of Alice's question, heading to my room to grab the supplies that Esme needs.

* * *

><p><strong>So sorry about posting so late. Life took a dive, and I was trying to get it back on track. Moving back into my parent's house took a couple of days, and school has started. Next chapter will be posted this Friday. <strong>

**Thank you for reading. Leave me a review. **


	67. Chapter 67

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"I have a bad feeling."<p>

"About Aro's party?" Edward asks.

"No, not that." I twist my lips to the side, contemplating. "Maybe; I don't know anymore." I bite the piece of orange chicken dangling delicately between the chopsticks, trying to get the gloomy thought out of my mind.

"It is should be good event, though; it's invitation only into the gallery opening."

"So it's very elite."

He nods, trying to use the wooden sticks to pick up his Chow Mein. "We can always give our reservations to Tanya and Jasper if you're having second thoughts."

My mouth drops open. "He asked her out?"

"She cornered him in the garage."

I chuckle, shaking my head. Even though that bad feeling in the pit of my stomach is present, it's hard not to smile at the sight of Edward failing to grab the oily, limp noodles.

"Maybe the bad feeling is about this food," he offers.

"We can blame that on Jessica."

She'd helpfully mentioned that there was this tiny place on the corner, just a block from the hospital that had the freshest food. But after a taste of the soggy noodles and tough chicken, we disagree.

Things have been good-really good, especially with Alice growing more and more comfortable with Edward's presence. Jasper's constant notes kept me up to date and buoyant as the group therapy sessions showed progress.

And when things go too good in my life, something usually happens.

That feeling keeps me restless throughout lunch, regardless of how much I try to ignore it and console myself.

.

.

My feet pound against the floors towards the elevator, the burn starting from the inside of my abdomen spreading to my chest.

Dread.

What will I find when I get to Jasper's office? Is it Esme or Alice?

The elevator doors slide open and I punch in for the first floor. My heartbeat is loud in my ears as I back up to lean against the wall. The coldness of the metal touches the overheated skin of my back, doing nothing to soothe me.

Rosalie isn't far behind.

She is muttering to me, but her words do not register in my mind. I try to calm down as the doors ding open, though my feet refuse to move. If I don't go, I can pretend that nothing is wrong. If I just go back to Dina, I can concentrate on what is actually moving in a positive direction in my life. I could concentrate on helping her rather than having these kinds of thoughts plaguing my mind.

Rosalie grips my arm to tug me along with her down the corridor. The walls feel like they're closing in, the air constricting. My chest hurts.

I frown as my mind clears a bit. I expected Carlisle and Emmett and Edward crowding around the office, yet the hallway is nearly empty save for the nurses. Jasper's door is slightly ajar, and Rosalie ultimately lets go of me to push her way in.

Carlisle's sitting with his chin on his chest, his usually polished hair looking haywire.

Rosalie's demanding answers, but Carlisle barely picks up his head. He's looking like he's been in a train wreck and trying to process everything.

I can feel the food from lunch doing jumps in my abdomen.

Something happened.

I can't find it in me to go in. I rest my forehead against the pristine, white wall, trying to transfer myself to a happier place.

Yesterday, perhaps, when Emmett was trying to convince Rosalie and I to go to the underground shooting range. We'd agreed on a laser tag match in the end.

The pressure below my waist brings me back to reality. I barely focus back in.

Jasper's walking towards me, his brows furrowed, and I'm cast back to the eleven year old me, when the EMT was walking towards me, to confirm Renee's death.

My throat burns even though I haven't screamed.

"Hey, hey," Jasper coos softly as his hands grip my shoulders. "Everything is going to be fine"

"Going to be fine?"

"Yeah."

"Is that a promise?"

He gives me a look, one that conveys how much he wants to give me that promise, yet he knows he can't, for the same reason that I can't bear to ask if it's Alice or Esme, even though it's obvious.

"Where-" My voice sounds like it doesn't belong to me. It's a scared, timid voice, and I have to be the opposite. "Where's Edward?"

"He's in the I.C.U. right now. I want to talk to Carlisle to explain the situation to him before he goes completely berserk.

I'm starting to gather my wits, my breath finally expelling the pain in my chest.

"Why did you call me here?"

He frowns again. "I called Tanya. If I remember correctly, she was there when Carlisle found out about everything, so I figured she might be able to help me get to him."

I slide down the wall until my knees are bent in front of me uncomfortably. "What is all this about?"

"Esme broke down."

Sirens... I can practically hear the sirens.

"Bella, I need you to calm down or you should go."

"No, no I want to stay," I mumble out.

Jasper sighs, giving the floor a long glare before sitting down beside me. The few people and nurses walking by give us a look, one that says they believe I should be locked in.

"Hear me out; this needed to happen. This is good; these are the results that we wanted."

"How can this be good?"

"Because she's thinking about all the things she has blocked. She's thinking about how she couldn't see Edward graduate from medical school. How she missed the moment when Emmett was supposed to ask her for the family ring to give to Rosalie. She missed the part where Emmett couldn't bring Rosalie home to get her blessings before proposing.

"There no longer is any kind of reality but this one for her now. She's finally taken steps to break through the deadbolt that her emotions has fragmented in her mind."

His words are loud and clear. "She's free . . ."

"Yeah, she's free."

"Should we get them home? I'm sure we can get Eleazar up here to cover Carlisle's shift." Rosalie's head peeks out, her lips pulled down, and the thin lines on her forehead ceased.

"No. I want to keep Esme until she's calm."

"How long do you think that will take?"

"An hour, or maybe more; possibly all day."

"And Alice?"

He falters briefly. "I need to talk to her; she was in the room when everything happened. Why don't you wait in my office for the time being, Bella?"

He helps me up and into the seat before closing the door after him. Rosalie tags along, muttering about a promise that she's made to Carlisle to try to be near Esme.

It's eerily silent, except for the harsh breathing and a soft sigh from Carlisle. I want to ask him how he's doing, except I can see the answer in his expression and posture.

Instead of the slowly brightening man that he had been for the past couple of days, before me sat a grim and weary man, bracing himself as if waiting for the worst news of his life.

And despite Jasper's reassurance, what if Esme didn't find this breakdown helpful for her state of mind?

I'd never be able to forgive myself.

"I don't think I've ever been this scared," Carlisle croaks out. I tilt my head towards him to let him know that I'm listening, but I can't find it in myself to look him in the eyes. "I wasn't this scared before."

"She's going to be fine."

"That's why. I didn't have much hope before; how could I when I went to therapy with her and saw the damage? I couldn't let her do it alone . . . What if he'd turned out to be just like Alistair? I never gave her a chance to recover."

I want to tell him that it isn't his fault, but he continues, as if I'm not here, as if he's just thinking out-loud.

"But this entire year has been a whirlwind. I didn't let myself believe, didn't let myself hope until she stopped mentioning Vanessa's name so often. She wouldn't even go into the room anymore. I was expecting for her to tell me one day that she wanted the things donated, or burned, or buried . . . Something, anything. I prayed for something to happen, a miracle-but now I'm not sure if this is it. Is it?" He lifts his head, his blue eyes glazed with unshed tears. "I just want my wife back. I can't live without her."

I finally understand Charlie's words. I finally understand their positions.

Charlie loved Renee, and perhaps even does so now. She'd taken me with her the moment the divorce was finalized, and he didn't fight her to give her freedom from being chained to her past in any way. Carlisle loved Esme enough to know that she wouldn't be able to bear the blunt of reality, and therefore he kept her in a protective shell.

Charlie should've fought for me, just like Carlisle should've helped bring Esme to reality.

But love is just this-unconditional, something that can reduce a person to idiocy just to keep them near and happy.

Regardless of what Carlisle has done and how wrong he has been in the past, the only thing that has remained unchanged in him that I can see, is his love for Esme.

And it gives me the strength to tell him that she'll be fine; that she'll come out of this stronger, because she has to.

She has a family that needs her; she has a house to run, so much to share with her family, and she still has so much more of her life to live.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading. Leave me a review. <strong>


	68. Chapter 68

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

**Enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Hi," I whisper, knowing he'll hear me.<p>

It's dark, even though the curtains are drawn to let the moonlight in. He's nursing a caramel colored drink, one with a scent so potent that I can smell it from where I'm standing across the room.

He refuses to acknowledge my words and opts to ignore me entirely.

"Carlisle's in bed. You should sleep, too."

Edward doesn't respond, so I move closer to the back of his chair. I put my hands on his shoulders, both to comfort him, and let him know that he's not alone, that he doesn't have to think that way.

He shrugs me off, downing his drink in one big gulp, and I try not to feel the sharp pierce that goes through my chest.

I know how to react when he's second guessing himself; I know how to steer the conversation when he's hurt. But in all the times I've known him, Edward has never pushed me away.

He's never blamed me for something.

The guilt makes my shoulders feel heavy, and my head drops as I glare at my feet. The entire day's worth of emotions fall over me, and I'm lost as to whether I should pressure Edward to talk, or whether I should just go home.

He can still read me like before, though; he sounds exhausted, his head sagging and the base of his lashes glistening with water, "Go home, Bella. Alice needs you."

So do you.

I hesitate to say it out loud, which is a first and it makes me question myself.

I walk slowly, hoping, praying that he will stop me, but he doesn't. I can't deduce what hurts me the most: his dismissal, or the fact that he's blaming me for Esme's breakdown.

He doesn't stop me, so I close his bedroom door before making my way downstairs.

We'd all gotten a chance to see Esme before driving home. She'd been quiet one moment and crying the next, and Jasper had said it was progress. She had clung to Edward, apologizing profoundly for everything that had happened and didn't acknowledge anyone else.

Rosalie is sitting with Alice, her eyes heavy. "You guys are leaving?" she asks, her words hallow.

I nod to

her, gathering my stuff before tugging Alice along with me, the door shutting softly. I'd never previously left this house wondering when I'd see the Cullens again . . . yet this time I wonder if I will be coming back . . . ever.

"Bella!"

My heart plummets when I see Emmett's broad form instead of the copper hair that I'd been waiting for. He hugs me close, his arms tight, and I sag into him.

"Don't worry; he'll come around," he whispers into my ear, soft enough so that Alice can't hear. "My brother's just dealing right now. He's being an idiot; it's what he does when things change too abruptly. He pushes people away, not knowing that he's not protecting them, but hurting them. Just give him a bit of time."

I nod, and he glances at me, concerned.

"Don't give up on him."

Esme will be okay; things will work out, I tell myself as I stare up at Edward's balcony, waiting for a goodbye wave or a shadow, anything that would indicate we'd be all right.

Nothing; nothing happened.

I drive home, my mind trying to clear out all the emotional turmoil.

I will myself to strike up a conversation with Alice, but she doesn't talk much. It's almost as if she's locked herself in her safe place again.

She doesn't eat anything, excusing herself to go to bed. Food is the last thing on my mind, too.

The pinkish, crème-colored living room reminds me of the happier moments spent here. The paint reminds me of how Esme taught me the meaning of family in ways that I'd never been able to experience.

Would I have understood Renee better had it not been for Esme and Alice? Would I have been able to move past all the anger that had manifested into hatred if Alice hadn't mentioned it? Would I have ever given Charlie that chance he'd been waiting for, for a decade, had it not been for the Cullen family?

Questions upon questions plague my mind as I slide into bed, not bothering to take off my jeans. I could wait for a few days for news on Esme, even though a part of me knows that there's a very small chance Edward would do it. I would wait, and then try to call, and go from there.

My door opens, and Alice peeks her head in. "I can't sleep," she mumbles. "Can I stay here?"

I lift the comforter so she can slide in. I rest on the side that Edward usually does, and the lingering smell of his cologne makes me miss him even more.

Alice and I both find it hard to sleep or speak as the red numbers on the clock on the bedside table continue to blink in the dark.

Alice's eyelids droop, but just before she closes them, she grabs my hand, whispering, "She's going to be fine, Bella. I know it."

I hadn't realized I was the one needing the reassurance until her breathing evens out.

.

.

I don't wait. I call Edward's cell phone the very next day, because I refuse to allow him to misunderstand the situation. I need for him to know that I'm only trying to be helpful.

He doesn't pick up my call that day, or the next few. Any updates that I receive are from Emmett and Rosalie.

Jasper even refuses to talk, other than the soft spoken reassurances that things are going as planned. He continues on with the therapy sessions with Alice, one-on-one now.

"She's getting there," he informs me one afternoon. "She's curious about school now."

"That's good, right?"

"Yes, it's very good. It means she's gaining her footing and starting to believe in herself more. She's starting to make steps towards the next part of her life, her future."

"Should I enroll her in a few classes at a college to start her off for this fall?"

"Not yet." He puts down the file, leaning back against his chair. "Enroll her when she asks you to. She's not ready if she asks your permission. She'll be ready when the only thing she'll care about is the drive to and from school."

"Got it; anything else?"

"Talk to her."

"I do."

"Not just questions about her, but tell her about you."

I tilt my head to the side.

"She misses hearing about you. She told me that you used to talk about your life more when she was institutionalized."

My lips part in realization.

"Get her comfortable enough, so she feels as if she can question you, too, not just answer and talk about herself."

"I didn't know-I didn't mean to."

"That's what I'm here for." He smiles softly. "How have you been doing, Bella?"

"Are you asking as a psychiatrist or as a friend?"

"As a friend, who is very much concerned."

I shrug. "I'm okay."

"Now mean it." I don't respond. "Is it about Esme or Edward?"

"She's getting better, isn't she?" I ask rhetorically. He's already answered this question.

"Don't keep Edward's distance against him."

"So he's talked to you . . ." I trail off, the statement sounding harsher than I intend.

Jasper shakes his head. "No, but he did keep me at arm's length for six years, Bella."

I instantly regret my words. "I'm sorry. I just don't know what to do. Should I leave him alone and let him initiate the contact, or should I annoy the heck out of him until he talks to me?"

"Now we're getting somewhere."

"I thought you were listening as a friend."

"I am. And as that friend, I realize that you're putting way too much pressure on yourself. There's this quirk about Edward; he pulls back from everything at the first sign of trouble. It's in his nature; it's who he is. You said it yourself-he and I are similar, as we both evaluate the possible, negative results before heading into something.

"I wish I'd kept working on helping him break out of his depression after Vanessa's death. You just have to be patient; don't give up on him."

"How far did you go . . .?"

"I gave him a black eye and a big bruise on his jaw. Son of a gun didn't even hit me back."

I sigh a bit in relief. "Thanks, Jasper."

"For hitting him?" he teases.

"For everything."

"Of course, I like surrounding myself with happy people. And you worry entirely too much to take in all the smiles around you; too much worrying isn't good for the soul."

I lean over to kiss him on the forehead in gratitude.

"Don't be shy if you need anything, Bella."

"I won't." I pause at the door. "By the way, where are you taking Tanya? Oh . . . wait; I mean where is she taking you?"

"Shut it, you." I grin at him. "The only thing she's told me is to be ready for the best night of my life."

I hold in the laughter at the look on his face.

"Good luck with that one."

"Might as well just hang on and enjoy the ride."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading. Leave me a review. <strong>


	69. Chapter 69

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Wow," Angela mutters, her eyes wide, "so your volunteering status is on hold until Rosalie comes back?"<p>

She'd snuck out for an hour from her studying in the library to have a quick lunch with me.

I nod, sipping my soda. We'd come at a good time; Subway on our campus isn't crowded today due to finals coming close, and we're sitting as far away from the counter as possible, the tables around us entirely empty. "Since she was supervising me and I worked directly under her, I can't really do much now."

"Can't you talk to the management or something?"

"I've put in a request with the psychiatrist in charge of the entire program, but there's not much they can do without changing a supervisor."

"And you don't feel comfortable doing that," she guesses.

"Nope; at least not without talking to Rosalie about it."

"Why don't you?"

I shift in my seat. "They're dealing with family issues right now."

"All the more reason to bring it up. What if Rosalie takes time off of work-or worse, decides to quit? Where would that leave you?"

"Maybe I should wait a little longer."

"You need to start putting yourself first."

I frown at her, and she hurries to elaborate, "I'm not being insensitive to whatever their situation is. I'm just saying that you need to think about your future."

"I am."

"No," she stresses. "You've put your education on hold for Alice, and now you're putting your career on hold for a family that doesn't even respond to your calls?"

I balk. "Technically, it's just a volunteering job," I reply, miffed.

"One that can help you establish connections for later. I don't want tot see you regret it. It's hard to get back into school once you quit."

"I'm not going to quit."

"So you're signing up for summer classes or for fall?"

I nod to her. "Fall."

"That's good to hear." She gives me a lingering, concerned look. "What about Edward?"

I shrug, my eyes downcast. "He hasn't talked to me, and I haven't called for a while, either."

"Maybe it's time to give up."

"You think?"

Angela shrugs this time, taking a sip of her coffee to wash down her lunch. I pick at the wheat bread of the half-eaten sandwich in front of me. "Only you could know that," she starts. "Don't take my word for it-even though I think you ought to move on. Not returning calls is just the start of it."

I mull over her words carefully. She's right-no one but me can known when to call it quits. "Do you really think I put everyone else before me?"

Her eyes soften. "It's not always a good thing, especially at this age, when you're trying to get to a certain place in your life. The faster you finish your classes, the faster you can settle into your life. Have you seen the unemployment rate rising? Can you really afford to push back in this economy? If you skip more than one semester, you previously completed units become void." She leans forward, looking as serious as I've ever seen her. "Just something to think about."

I ask her about her classes, and we catch up on things she couldn't text me about.

Angela's demeanor has lightened considerably from before, and I try to keep up. Her words were disheartening and remain at the forefront of my mind. I can't brush off her concern for me-perhaps because I've never received it in such a way.

Charlie has always encouraged me to do what made me happy, which was art. He never gave me a time limit or was troubled about me not settling into a lifestyle or a career. And if he was affected, he never let me know it.

"So Ben called," Angela drops unexpectedly.

"What did he want?" The two of them are fascinating to me, for some reason; they had the kind of push and pull relationship that I'd never seen. Whenever Ben pulled, Angela would push, and when Ben pushed, Angela pulled. Almost as if they didn't have a common ground together.

"A date." She's close to squealing, practically vibrating in her chair.

"You mean he's in Chicago?" She nods excitedly. "You must've impressed him on Christmas."

"It was the leather bustier, I tell you!" She glances down at her wristwatch, groaning. "I have to get back to studying. I still have a lot of bones to cover."

We gather our bags and throw away the trash. "For anatomy class?"

"No, for Forensic Anthropology."

"Are you changing your major?" I ask, referring to her obvious interest in forensics, as it's her third class out of the general requirements.

"No," she draws out slowly. "I just like the mystery and satisfaction of finding the identity of an unidentifiable skeleton." She sighs. "Maybe I'll minor in it."

"You'll figure it out," I tease her. I check my phone once again, and the 'No Messages' notice prompts me to turn back to her. "How would you like to be my date to Aro's gallery opening?"

Her mouth drops open. "Are you freaking kidding me? Yes, God, yes! Wait, isn't Edward taking you?"

"He's not responding to any of my calls, or my messages. I think it's safe to assume he won't show up."

"Alice?"

"She doesn't want to go."

She cocks up one eyebrow. "And if Edward does show up at your front door looking as dashing as ever; would you choose him or me with my wild hair and wicked wit?"

I force out a laugh as the image of Edward in a tux tugs at my heart. I miss him more than I can admit to myself.

"I'm sure I'll make the right decision."

"Or we could have a dance off!"

I roll my eyes, embracing her in farewell before heading to the hospital.

It's been a few weeks since I'd seen any of the Cullens. Emmett sends a text or two occasionally, but the strain that's been placed between us makes me doubt my longest friendship.

And I don't even know what to make of Edward. I avoid passing by him in the hospital's hallways in fear that he'll snap. I'd stalked him the first couple of days, watching him work on files behind a magazine or from around a corner.

He looked absolutely wrecked.

The bags were heavy under his eyes, but there was something different that I couldn't put my finger on.

I stopped doing that when the pain in my chest got too much to handle.

Jasper helped tremendously with everything he could. He made sure that Alice and I understood he was a friend that we could rely on anytime.

And when I told him I would stop reaching out to Edward until he gave me an indication that he was ready, he'd called in enforcements in the form of Angela and Tanya for a girls' night in. He brought a stack of DVDs and stayed through every cheesy flick.

That made Tanya swoon over him all that more, and I'm sure he reaped the rewards on their next date.

They'd hit it off, as much as Jasper didn't want to admit to me. I was happy for the two of them, and Alice's behavior didn't change as far as Jasper was affected. I chalked it up to me not understanding her earlier.

I pick her up from the hospital before driving to the mall. She had promised to help me pick out a dress.

We end up at Macy's, and she disregards every dress that I choose.

I drop down into the chair by the dressing rooms. "I give up."

"You stay here," she orders sternly. I have to bite my lip to tell her to stay in my sight.

I watch her as she goes through the racks, shaking her head at some of the dresses she pulls out. She even holds up a rainbow colored one for me to see before pushing her tongue out in disgust. I snicker as the girl at the makeup counter gives Alice the stink-eye.

She walks over with a few dresses, some that were longer than her. She holds them up for me to see. I make a move to grab them, but she shakes her head, tilting her head towards the last door in the changing room.

The first one is a light pink, strapless number that falls down to my ankles. I like how the color looks on me, but the chest area seems to dip too low for me to be comfortable in.

Alice takes one look at me before handing me a purple dress. She leans against the closed door. "You should wear heels with it."

"I'll break my neck."

"You won't."

"Do you want to buy a dress, Alice?"

"No, I don't like wearing dresses."

"You like shopping, though. Is that what you want to go into-fashion?"

"I don't know."

I hum in reply. She's quiet as I step out in the purple, halter dress, and she immediately shoves me back into the little cubical, sending a dark blue one flying from the top of the door.

"Why do you want to help kids?"

I twist my lips to the side, attempting to find the rights words for an answer. "I wanted to do something with art. When I was little, I had a female-Jasper of my own. She asked me to draw for her and helped me, and I wanted to do something similar to that."

"Why not sell your pieces?"

"I'm not into the whole starving artist thing."

"It's too far, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"That dream, that goal. You want to go for something easy, something you can see yourself accomplishing instead of reaching for."

"Yeah," I reply to Alice, thinking about her statement, "maybe you're right."

The blue dress feels like silk and fits like leather. There's a slight drop in the bodice and a tie around the waist to accentuate the curves. It's so simple that it looks beautiful, and the folds and lines are intricate enough to make it look delicate. To make me look delicate.

Brown eyes stare back at me, hollow. The dips in my collarbone where the bones protrude are slightly scary to see and a reminder of the past.

It's almost as if I'm seeing myself from a year ago. And it makes me sad to see what I'd done to myself.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading. Leave me a review.<strong>


	70. Chapter 70

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Easter comes and goes by with relative quiet. Other than watching my dad blush every time Sue took care of the littlest things for him, and catered to his simplest needs, there was nothing entertaining about the holiday. When she gave him more vegetables than fried chicken, I was impressed, and I whole-heartedly approved.<p>

I heard more about Leah and her struggle through medical school, and how proud Sue was of her daughter. They made plans for me to come down and meet her one day, and I didn't deny them that.

Alice releases the curler from my hair to let the strand fall down into ringlets.

Looking into a mirror that day at Macy's was like getting a wake-up call, one that didn't really need much force; it only brought to the surface what I'd been feeling and already knew but refused to accept.

_They_ were healing, without Alice or me. And we had to accept that and move on as far as our lives were concerned. She'd been like a rock for me these few days; it felt like she was the one taking care of me, rather than the other way around.

Alice hums, pulling me out of my musings. I can almost ignore the nervous butterflies in my stomach as Alice works on my makeup next.

Tanya and Jasper are sitting downstairs, bickering most likely, and searching through my freezer for cookie dough ice-cream. They'd arranged to watch movies with Alice to ease my worry about leaving her alone.

"All done," Alice announces, clapping her hands once, looking proud of her work.

I get to my feet slowly, the heels different from what I'm used to. The amount of concentration I feel necessary to put into my balance serves to distract me from the anxiety of the event. I'm never going to fit in there-I shouldn't have even RSVP'd.

The blue seems to make my skin appear pearly white, which is a compliment to the otherwise deathly pale it usually is.

Tanya whistles when I walk downstairs, which makes me giggle.

"Why was I not asked to this?" She pouts.

"I . . . uh I think Aro wouldn't have been able to handle your awesomeness."

"Nice tactic; I approve heartedly."

"You look great," Jasper says, grinning at me.

"Totally. If he could see you now, Edward would be choking on his tongue."

I can see the exact moment Tanya's words register in her mind. Her mouth drops open and her brows furrow in regret. She gives me an apologetic look.

I shake my head at her to indicate that it's okay, and she walks towards the kitchen, muttering about popcorn.

"I'll choose the movie," Alice commands, her hair bouncing with each step.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Jasper asks.

"What is?"

"How a person can change right in front of you."

"Because you decided to help."

"It was more than just me, Bella. You don't give yourself enough credit."

I smile at him, sitting on the back of the sofa. Angela should be here any moment now.

"Tanya didn't mean to . . . you know."

"Aw, look at you, looking out for her." His cheeks tint pink before he dissolves into a small grin. "I know she didn't mean to, and thank you both for coming here tonight."

"No problem. It's a special night for you, after all." His eyes twinkle with something, as if he knows something I don't.

"Hey, Jasper?"

He hums.

"You told me to wait for Edward to figure things out, yet you put up no fight when I told you we moved on. How come?"

"Angela should be here shortly," he says. "We can talk about this later."

"No." It doesn't sit right with me, especially his stalling. I'd never given it much thought before, and I'd only presented the previous question in mere curiosity. "Tell me," I pry.

"You'll ruin your night. You deserve to have a day just to get out and enjoy like the twenty-one year old you are. You need a night away from all your responsibilities."

"You make them sound like a burden."

"They very nearly are," he states, "the obligations you see yourself under can be tiring; they can be too much."

"So you won't tell me?"

"I'll tell you tonight; when you come home, I'll tell you everything."

The doorbell rings, and we startle apart, barely noticing how close we'd gotten. His eyes are begging me to understand, so I sigh and head to the door, letting him off of the hook for now.

"Did you want me to bring flowers?" Angela asks as she breezes in.

"I would've preferred chocolates, but no need."

"Good. I had no time after getting ready to look this good." She flips a strand of her pin-straight hair back. She's not wearing her glasses, and the black frock makes her appear shorter than she really is. Her dress is simple, just like mine, except for the tutu-like-skirt that stretches just above her knees.

"You look good," I tell her.

"I clean up nice, and so do you."

"Ready?"

"Whose car are we taking?"

"Mine," Jasper interrupts. He dangles his keys on his index finger towards me.

"Please tell me you own that sweet BMW parked outside that I totally did not spend the last twenty minutes drooling over."

Jasper barks out a laugh. "That's the one."

"Jasper . . ." I start.

"No, I insist. Go, have fun."

Angela narrows her eyes at me, not unkindly, tilting her head to Jasper's keys repeatedly.

I grab them out of his hand, kiss him on the cheek, and yell out a 'see you' to Tanya and Alice.

The last thing I hear is a 'have fun' from the three of them, before the door closes.

"Did it seem like they were eager to push me out of my own house?"

Angela shrugs. "Maybe they're going to introduce Alice to hard liquor while the parents are away."

I balk. "They wouldn't."

"That's how I lived my eighteenth: parties, parties, and parties."

"You wanna drive?"

"Nope, you're going to. I just want to get out of a stylish car that will turn heads."

I shake my head at her.

"They're gonna have valets, Bella, valets."

I unlock the car, and it lights up from the side mirrors and the inside. We settle into the leather seats of the sports car, and I give my black clutch to Angela. After a bit of fumbling, I discover that the car turns on with a button rather than a key.

It purrs to life, and when I finally talk myself into driving it, the shiver that crawls up my spine makes adrenaline pump through my veins. The softness of the tires peeling away from the curb is unparalleled.

"Admit it," Angela demands, poking a finger into my arm.

"Okay, I could get used to this."

Angela turns the music on after plugging the gallery's address into the GPS, and Adele's voice washes over us from all angles. We stay frozen except for the occasional bump on the road until we stop at a red light. We exchange one glance before bursting into giggles.

"That's a CD, right?" I choke out.

"Yup!" She shrieks. "Never, ever let him live this down."

.

.

"How did you know there would be valets?" I whisper to her as a waiter offers us flutes of pink champagne.

"I checked online. Our school offers a raffle, and we can apply every day to get as many chances as possible to win an invite to this event."

The walls remind me of Alice's previous hospital, sterile and pristine. Paintings adorn each corner, and a few people mingle about as they take in the art.

Angela and I stop in front of a colorful frame. The strokes of diagonal lines stand so prominent on the wooden panels that I can practically feel the passion behind each of the thick, driver paint lines.

"Beauty, isn't she?" Aro asks as he comes up behind us, his hands clasped together.

I look at the painting, the soft brushes of red tinting the hair of a delicate woman. The lightest shades of crème enhance each shadow and each feature, and allow the deep, blue eyes to stand out towards us, as if lifting from the canvas itself.

"She is," I agree softly. "The work is astounding, as well, Mr. Volturi."

"You are too kind, my dear." He turns to Angela, nodding his head in acknowledgement. "Ms. Webber, please enjoy yourself tonight. If you don't mind, may I steal Ms. Swan away for a moment? There's much to discuss."

"No problem." Angela shrugs, her heels clicking against the linoleum floor.

"Let me show you a special piece," he states, offering me his arm.

I don't know as much about galleries as I should, but he ought to have been mingling with his guests and hosting rather than focus his sole attention on me. Curious, indeed.

We move past corner-less walls, still in sight of the arrivals, but the picture that he stands me opposite of, is hardly visible to anyone if not pointed out.

"This is my most treasured work. Tell me, Ms. Swan, what do you see when you look at the sharp edges and uneven lines?"

I tilt my head to the side, my arm still linked with his.

"I see fast pace, thoughts changing rapidly, the image changing too fast to gather onto the paper"

"What's good about it?"

"It's choppy, but that gives it the sense of freedom and urgency, and it adds to the passion of the image. It's like you were too afraid of the time moving by so fast for you to slow down to draw this to perfection." It's the same woman from before, only this framed drawing is done with pencils, and perhaps charcoals rather than paint, and the subject looks much younger. "And that's what makes it look perfect-the undemanding construction."

"That's my wife. She was my girlfriend when I drew this, but she's my wife now, my inspiration."

"She's beautiful."

"She is." He clears his throat. "Now, the reason I sent you this invite was to show you this side of the world."

"What do you mean?"

He steps away from me to open his arms wide. "I'll make money, just like that." He snaps his fingers to emphasize his point. "You could so easily have this same. You've got talent, Bella, the way I've so rarely seen. You can blend one shade into another so effortlessly without changing the pencil; and you can etch an image without reverting to the original one. Don't you want any of this?"

My heart pounds at his compliments, and when I take a look around the room, I notice the way diamonds shine off of the rings on many of the women here. Their dresses cling to their figure impeccably as if handmade to fit like a glove. Even Aro looks like he's made of money; his suit is blacker than black, his hair slicked back to give him a sophisticated look. His eyes look hauntingly sad for some reason, though, and I struggle to pace myself.

Did I want this life? It could offer so much to me, yet the answer resounded clear within me.

Did I fit in? Once again, the answer came fast.

"What would you get out of that?"

"New pupil. My value goes up when one of my students gathers her or his footing in the art world. Your work could be worth thousands one day, Bella. All you'd need to do is start small. We could start displaying one drawing at a time at each of my openings, and then move on from there. We could start selling, or, if you don't want to part with them, we could just display them, and that would increase their value . . . increase your value."

I grapple to breathe. I'd never dreamed of a higher life; never of my art being on display or on sale.

"I see you freaking out." He looks at me concerned. "How about you come work for me for a week and then we'll go from there? I know you need time to think; you have my contact number and you can email me any time you'd like. As I said, we could start out small. This could help you pay for your studies."

My fingers twitch. They long to twirl and twist James' bandana for comfort.

He pats my hand. "I trust you'll find Ms. Webber on your own. Enjoy the rest of your night." He smiles kindly for the last time at me before going back to hosting.

There's a soft bench peeking out from one of the walls, and I walk over with wobbly legs to collapse on it. I lean my head back and close my eyes, wishing to go back home. I can't seem to put my finger on what makes me uncomfortable about being here.

"I figured I'd find you here. Are you okay?" Angela's soft voice is soothing, as is the concern laced in it.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"What did he want?"

"He wanted to offer me a wall at his opening."

I peek a look at her when she doesn't respond. Her mouth gapes open and close like a fish. I nudge her with my elbow. "That's... that's quite an honor."

"I don't even know what it's about. I'm a first year student; he can't just give me something like this."

"Of course he can. He's done so before."

"What?"

"He helped one of his first year students become a well-known name today. Does Raoul Adamo ring a bell?"

Of course it did. Some of his original work hung on Yale's walls, but I'd never known Aro was his helping hand. Every art student there had been privy to the story of Raoul Adamo and his mentor, but I'd never heard Aro's name in it.

"Oh."

"Tell me you said yes. That's a once in a lifetime offer!"

"He said to think it over."

"Bella, there's nothing to think over; you love drawing, don't you? Then this is a dream job for you!"

"I've always wanted to work with kids through art. I don't fit in this kind of world." I shake my head.

"Bella Swan, I will hit you on the head." She scowls at me. "Just because you don't fit in now doesn't mean you won't ever. You need to become comfortable in it. And you can still work on your degree while you do this. Having connections can do you a lot of wonders in the long run. What if you need to go to medical school to become an art therapist? How're you going to pay for that?"

"I just need to think it over, Ang."

She wraps an arm around my shoulder, and the warmth that seeps from her to me calms my racing heart.

She persuades me to walk around once more to admire the art before we make our way outside. It's no longer light outside, and the moon is high in the sky. We wait for the valet to get the car when I feel the air suddenly become charged with something.

"I'm, uh, I'm just gonna go over there," Angela informs me as she walks backwards to a gazebo-like side porch.

I frown at her when a hand touches my shoulder. I jump as static passes through my right side.

And he's just standing there when I turn around. The same wild hair that only looks longer and messier than before; the same green eyes that are looking at me so _apologetically_.

My eyes and nose sting as I remember the nights I'd spent wishing that he would've understood me, that he would've called me. I feel exhausted, the weight crashing down.

When I didn't see him, I could so easily push the pain away, but now that he's standing in front of me looking like _that_, and reminding me of every reason I fell in love with him makes me want to crawl into my bed to cry and simultaneously push him away to hurt him as much as he's hurt me .

I straighten up as his lips part to greet me. "Yes?" I ask cooly, fixing him with a nonchalant stare.

He blinks back at me. "Hi."

I nod. "Hey."

"You look good."

_No, I don't. But you do._ "Thanks."

"I was here earlier."

"How come?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "I don't know."

"Well, you know where to find me when you do know." I turn away from him, but he grabs my arm and I will myself to not to break down in front of him. It hurts to see him better; couldn't he have offered me the same consolation?

"Wait! I get that you're angry, and you have every right to be-"

"Damn right I do."

"And I am so, so sorry for that. I wanted to come see you, I really did..."

"Really? That's not what I understood after the first two months of unreturned calls."

He flinches, and a part of me feels satisfied at seeing some type of reaction from him.

"Bella . . ."

"I'm sorry, Edward. I'm keeping you from spending a wonderful night at an elite event; how rude of me. You go have fun, I have things to do."

"Bella, please listen to me." I open my mouth to interrupt, but he carries on in a firm tone. "I understand that you're angry. I know I shouldn't have pushed you away; I knew that the same night I did it, and it killed me. But when time slipped, I couldn't . . . What kind of a man would I be returning to you as? Everything that I'd carefully constructed as my life was falling apart, and I had no idea how I was supposed to keep it together. You deserved so much better. So I did what I knew would keep you safe, keep me safe: I isolated myself, from everything, from _you_, the one person I should have been with, the one person I _needed_.

"And I hated every minute of it; you know why? Because you weren't with me. I could see you in every room of my house; in the kitchen, in the living room, painting on the wall, and in my bed. I went to bed with the reminders of how much better I was when I had you by my side. I made so many mistakes, and for that I am so sorry."

I stare at him as his expression and his eyes will me to believe his explanation. He must've seen something change in me because his hands leave me and move to his sides, and he closes his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, his words utterly broken.

Jasper's BMW comes to a halt in front of me, and I hurry to slide into the driver's seat before Edward can open his eyes. I'm sure he knows I've left, but he remains frozen, and that helps me gather my courage to speed out of there once Angela's sitting in the passenger side.

There's no way I could say anything to him, I try to justify to myself. From Aro's offer to Angela's words to Edward's admission . . . I feel dizzy just thinking about it all.

Angela remains quiet, which gives me a chance to think about tonight. I can only handle so much.

A part of me wants to drive back to where he was standing and tell him that everything's okay, but a bigger part of me doesn't want to give in. What's to say that he won't distance himself all over again when something out of the norm happens?

Even so, that doesn't explain why Esme didn't call, or visit.

"You'll be okay?" Angela asks once I park on the sidewalk.

No. "Yeah; thanks for coming with me tonight."

"I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

She hugs me tightly before going to her little Scion. The house is eerily silent and dark when I step in. Just as I take off my heels, a loud scream sounds, and my own mingles with it. The light turns on as Tanya stands in front of the couch with a spatula raised half-way up.

I put my hand above my heart to will it to calm down.

"What the hell?"

"Sorry." Tanya lowers the utensil down with a sheepish grin, jumping from one foot to another. Her eyes are looking everywhere except at me, and the only time she does that is when she feels guilty.

"What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. It was all Alice! I swear." Her eyes go wide. "Her puppy dog eyes and the pouting and ugh."

"Scary movie?"

She nods. "Scary movies."

"She's not going to be able to sleep tonight now."

"It's her fault! _I'm_ not going to be able to sleep either."

"You'll have Jasper to comfort you."

Her lips curl back in a devious smile.

"And you chose a _spatula_ for protection?"

She shrugs sheepishly. "It was the first thing I could get my hand on."

I put down the keys and my clutch on the table beside the door and flop down on the couch next to Jasper. He takes one look at me and raises his eyebrows in question. I shake my head and mouth 'later'.

"You look exhausted."

"I am."

"Do you want to talk?" he offers.

I take a deep breath. "No, not tonight."

He wraps an arm around one of my shoulders much like Angela had did earlier. It's comforting and familiar, and it eases me slightly. Jasper's been a constant in my life this entire year, and not once had he complained about it.

I nudge him with my shoulder. "Thank you."

"For?"

"Everything."

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading. Leave me a review.<strong>


	71. Chapter 71

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

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><p>I yawn against my hand. My neck hurts from the awkward sleeping position. Tanya's sleeping on the smaller sofa, her feet dangling from one of its arms and her head from the other. Curled up against my side is Alice, while Jasper is on my right, one of his arms thrown carelessly over my leg and the other to the floor.<p>

I push all the limbs not belonging to me aside, moving carefully away from the market of shoes scattered all over the floor. The T.V. light is blinking on, but the screen is dark.

I brush my teeth and take a shower before starting on breakfast and coffee. Like Edward, Tanya and Jasper are morning caffeine addicts. I block everything; every emotion and every memory and focus on the present day.

Anything can happen with a brand new day.

Tanya stumbles in after a few moments with one eye barely open and her hair a complete mess, and goes straight to the coffee pot.

"It has sugar in it," I inform her.

She nods her thanks and moves behind the island to watch me fry the whisked eggs. "Do you have cheese?"

"Cheese omelet?"

"Please." She groans after a few moments of silence. "I don't even remember falling asleep."

"I don't, either. Do you work today?"

"No, thank God. My neck and my back are killing me."

"You shouldn't have stretched your limbs like a cat."

"I need my therapeutic bed to comfort me now."

"Baby."

She sticks her tongue out at me in retaliation. The smell of frying bell peppers and mushrooms fill the kitchen, and my stomach grumbles. "Speaking of baby, Alice told me what happened to her," Tanya blurts out.

I take a sharp breath in.

Acceptance is the last step that Jasper had mentioned. He'd told me that when Alice could finally accept her past and talk about it, he would move on; focusing on the smaller issues to help her get to her feet. _Without crutched and limps_, was his analogy.

"I'm sure she would've talked to you if I hadn't asked her so many questions," she rambles. Tanya's easy to read; she's like an open book. Her emotions are always on display, clearly readable on her face, whereas Jasper is a bit more cryptic. He's an open book, but I have to read between the lines to understand him.

And right now, she looks like she's expecting the worse from me.

"So what did you think?"

"About?"

"It's not an everyday story."

"Oh. I told her that she was strong, to have gotten through that. That was okay, right?" I nod, laying the vegetables in the middle of the eggs before rolling them as she sets the table. "I'm not a psychiatrist or anything, but she seems to differentiate between her parents and you; that was interesting to hear. When I met her, I thought she was substituting you as her parental figures, but the way she talks . . . it's like-like . . ." She pauses, twisting her lips to the side. "Like they're the evil couple who try to mold her, and you're the Price Charming, only, you know, female and without the romantic involvement."

"I'm not trying to be that."

"That's the best way."

I shift on my feet. "Don't start treating her differently."

"What do you mean?"

"Alice is really observant; she doesn't talk a lot, but she's really perceptive. If she feels you're treating her any different from before . . ."

"You're worried that I'll judge her because of what she's been through?"

"I don't think you will, but just for my peace of mind, I had to make sure."

She pats my shoulder. "I wouldn't do that to her. Since we're already on this topic, I wanted to ask you if I could take her to the mall. She wanted to go out, and I offered to take her."

"Sounds fun; I'm sure she's suffocating being with me all the time." I smile. "Let me grab you some money."

I make a move to get to the table beside the door where my purse and clutch are from yesterday, but Tanya stops me by grabbing my wrist, and rolls her eyes. "I got it."

"I can't-"

"Seriously, Bella, stop worrying so much."

"It's called consideration." I poke my tongue out at her.

"I'm gonna go wake the sleepy heads up."

She grabs a bowl and fills it with cool water, marching towards the living room with a determined, yet devious look on her face.

"Keep my sofa dry."

.

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><p>.<p>

"I'm scared of what they'll be up to," Jasper comments dryly, practically inhaling his coffee.

"I trust Tanya."

"So do I, but there's always the possibility she'll come back with pink hair, and Alice might get blue as a complementary color."

I bite back a giggle. He probably doesn't see it yet, but there's a sweet and affectionate tone he uses when he's talking about Tanya.

"So . . ."

He raises up an eyebrow

"That was an awkward attempt to segue into our next topic," I admit.

"Well, I did promise." He runs his hand through his hair to push back the long bangs, his eyes looking lighter than usual in the afternoon's light.

"You did."

He slides into the tall stools, and I remain on the other side of the counter. The space between us is like a shield.

"Do you want to tell me what happened last night first?"

"Aro gave me a job offer."

"Job offers are good. They're good, right?" At my nod, he continues, "Then why did you look like someone ran over your puppy?"

"Because . . . Edward came there to apologize."

"At the event?"

"At the end of it. They didn't let him in since he didn't have an invitation."

"Did he wait for you from the time it started?"

I shrug, partially wondering how the conversation went the opposite route of where I wanted it to be. Jasper should be telling me about his mindset regarding Edward rather than me talking about the miserable ending to last night.

"If he waited for you for nearly three hours, that says something, doesn't it?"

"All he said was 'sorry'."

"No explanation?"

"Yes . . . but . . ."

"What did you want to hear?"

"More," I argue.

"Like flowers?"

"No, not flowers; what I needed was reassurance from him that he can handle a relationship. He told me that he did what he knew best: isolating himself was to protect me."

Jasper's eyes remain on me as he twirls an apple in his hands over his now-empty cup.

"He said I deserved better." I square my shoulders. "And I do."

A hint of a smile touches his lips. "I told you to wait Edward out because he was going through individual therapy with Tanya's dad," he admits, and I stop breathing as I mull over that statement. "He's spent the majority of his evenings sitting in a white chair in a white room, talking to the man with a white pad."

"I see you're not bitter about it at all," I reply sarcastically, not knowing how to react to his other confession.

"I wouldn't have been able to treat him."

"You agreed for Esme."

"I didn't exactly cover for Esme when she wanted to have her first grope at the family pool party."

I purse my lips. "At a pool party, really?"

"Oh yeah. The things teenage boys do . . ." He shakes his head and the silly grin on his face fades. "I wouldn't be able to help Edward because I was one of the persons actively involved in his life when everything went downhill."

I scratch my neck. "Has he changed?"

Jasper lifts one shoulder. "He has and he hasn't."

"Elaborate, please?"

"I can't. That's as far as I'm involved between the two of you. You'll have to talk to Edward yourself now."

"You want me to go to him after I basically told him to shove it last night?"

"You didn't know about this last night," he points out.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"You didn't ask." He leans forward. "And Bella, whether I want you to talk to him is irrelevant; do you want to?"

Did I?

Yes, and no.

The thought that the only reason Edward didn't contact me earlier was because he'd been trying to get stable makes me want to see him and apologize for not understanding.

"You deserved so much better."

His words resonate through me, as if on a constant loop. They're warming, especially with the knowledge that he hadn't forgotten me, that he hadn't moved on.

Jasper taps his fingertips on the granite to get my attention. He grabs one of my recklessly thrown drawing pencils, writing something on the back of a grocery receipt. "Whenever you're ready, he'll be there." He gives one last tap on top of the address with his index finger before moving upstairs.

Is this what I wanted? I needed the reassurance that his first instinct wouldn't be to bolt at every road bump. Was this his way of showing me?

He always could read me easily.

However, I have to realize and accept that we could never go back to how we were.

I haven't changed as much as he has this time, and my dismissal of him last night might push him back.

I look up unintentionally as the shower turns on. Jasper would know where I'd be if I leave now . . . I don't have to wait for him to finish. The extra time would only help me gather excuses.

I look up the address Jasper provided on my phone. The area sits right between my house and the Cullen's. The building that my cell leads me to isn't what I was expecting. I thought it would've been a therapy center that I'd wait outside of, but the apartment building dashes down any hopes of that idea.

The image of being caged within four walls makes my heart beat faster, and I pull away from the curb.

It takes two drives around the block to talk myself into getting out of the car, and a few deep breaths to head towards the door. The entrance almost ends as soon as it begins. There's a small desk that sits behind a glass wall with a little box that slides open, much like the windows at a bank. I press the button for the elevator, the tiny directory paper next to the double doors showing apartment 506 is on the fifth floor.

When the doors open and I take my first look at the hallway, it's pleasantly surprising. It's open and bright, with a floor to ceiling window at the far end, and units on each side, odds at the left and evens at the right. .

I knock on Edward's door, desperately trying to ignore the urge to flee. It doesn't diminish as the sound of footsteps draw near.

It takes just a second and suddenly he's standing in front of me, barefoot, and looking a lot like a kid seeing Disneyland for the first time. His expression is akin to disbelief. "Bella?"

I bite down on my bottom lip. All the confidence that I had in believing this was a good idea is gone. I don't even know what to say.

Edward widens the door, whispering a soft, "Hey."

A good start as any, as I reply, "Hi."

"Come on in." He walks backwards, stumbling against the boxes littered all over the floor. Yet he refuses to move his eyes from me, as if ready to lunge after me if I try to escape.

"Nice place."

"I'm sorry about yesterday," he bursts out. "I should've thought it over more."

"You'd have talked yourself out of it," I comment lightly, taking in his features, from the dark green eyes to the slight curve of his lips that display happiness even though we don't know how this confrontation will end.

"You're probably right." He clears his couch for us to sit, and I finally notice what's different about him physically. He's more . . . muscled. The shirt he's wearing stretches across his shoulders and the sleeves are tight against his biceps.

"I took up boxing," he explains to my questioning stare. "I was told it's therapeutic."

"By your therapist?"

"Jasper told you?"

"He told me. He wouldn't have said anything, had it not been for the gallery opening yesterday." _In a way._

He shoves his hands in his pockets. "Would you like a beer or anything?"

"No, I'm good." I take a seat, though, because I don't trust the way my knees tremble. "You finally got a place of your own."

"Yeah; I was told it would be good if I stopped holding onto the past and tried to establish something of my own. I'm still in the process as you can see; I need some help deciding on the furniture."

"And you picked the location . . .?"

_Subtle_.

Pink tints the top of his ears. "I wanted to be close to the two families I have."

If I hadn't been sitting down, my knees would've buckled. I try to clear my mind. "You knew we'd eventually be here?" I point between us.

"I didn't, but I knew I would do anything to make it possible."

"Like last night."

"Not my best moment, I admit."

His sheepish tone makes me chuckle.

"But the sentiments are meant all the same."

I shift uncomfortably, training my eyes on the small window above the sink in the kitchen. Compared to the open and light Cullen house, this place is dark with only a few windows. There's a waist high wall separating the living room from the kitchen, and a narrow hallway into the bedroom.

The sense of being caged is nagging again. I fidget with my car keys.

"I'm guessing Jasper gave you the address?"

"Who else knew?"

"Just him outside of the family. Not even Tanya knows yet. I'm still trying to settle in," he replies, tapping his toe against a box.

The clock ticks. "Will you tell me everything? The way I reacted yesterday probably came off as if I wanted nothing to do with you, and that might be the best thing, but until I know everything . . ." I breathe deeply. "Please."

He smiles at me encouragingly, his eyes light and soft, and the warmth that he seems to radiate makes me sink into the leather couch. "I've wanted to tell you since the beginning. I wasn't lying when I said I missed you . . . every day. At home, at work, while I was driving, or when I was eating at that crappy Chinese place. But Eleazar said that'll be counterproductive and that I would use you as a guise instead of confronting my issues."

I blink back at him, forcing the questions at the tip of my tongue away.

"And I guess I kind of see his point. _Now_."

I nod stiffly.

"I've been working less, and trying to pick up some hobbies. I actually have a Facebook account now, one that I can't deactivate." He shrugs. "I don't really know how to tell you. The first days went by so slowly, but then time sped up. I can't remember how I changed, but actions speak louder than words, right?"

I suppose each 'transformation' is different; I can't understand his situation or his mindset because I still remember everything, the deadbolt and locks. I can't step into his shoes and fathom what he's feeling or what he went through.

"How are . . . you?" The hesitancy is clear.

Just as he couldn't know what I went through.

"I'm okay; sort of." I shrug. "I'm struggling to understand. I can understand why you didn't call me now, but what about Esme? Emmett and Rosalie didn't contact me, either. What am I supposed to think?" My voice rises up unconsciously.

His eyebrows furrow.

And then, everything that I've been pushing to the back of my mind spills forth. "Actually, let me answer that. I thought that I was a temporary replacement for Vanessa, that you all blamed me for everything."

He moves next to me in one second, his hands immediately reaching towards mine. "I didn't know, I swear," he pleads. "I was sure that Emmett, if no one else, would talk to you."

"They didn't. I had to give myself a lecture every morning to come close to believing it wasn't my fault. I had to deal with the repercussions of that blame. I didn't know what to tell Alice when she asked if she could see Esme; I had no idea how to explain to her that you wanted nothing to do with us. I called you so many times, and you didn't reply even once. You couldn't even tell me that Esme was okay, that you were okay."

My cheeks feel wet, but before I can wipe away the remnant of tears, Edward's doing it for me, the feel of his thumbs rubbing so softly, so familiar . . .

"Tell me how I can make it better."

I watch him helplessly as a sigh escapes me. Despite all things, I still love him. And he doesn't even know. "I don't know."

The sun filters through the thin, white curtains from behind us. The flares dance on Edward's skin, producing shadows on the left side. Such an anomaly; one side of him is bathed entirely in light, and the other in dark, almost as if one represents his past and the other his future.

The conflict is, would I be able to move on from the fear of his abandonment? Sides have changed; I recognize his position but now I am unaware of my own.

He breaks the silence after a few moments. "Okay, we're in an unfamiliar territory. My therapist told me what to do in these kinds of situations." He closes his eyes and chuckles humorlessly through his nose. "That sounds weird, doesn't it?"

I make a noise at the back of my throat.

He pulls his hands away from mine to rub them together. "First things first; do you think you can forgive me?" He flutters his eyelashes dramatically. I want to reprimand him for making light of the situation, but his own eyes are pleading me to play along. It's the opposite of how we usually are, and perhaps that's his intention.

It's a question that Jasper asked me already, one that I readily know the answer to. "Yes."

He releases a breath. "So our relationship is redeemable?"

"I . . ." My throat tightens. "I can forgive everything, eventually, maybe, but forget? It's going to take time to trust again, Edward."

Various emotions play over his features, and I try not to think of the sharp pain that _his_ pain causes me. His fingers twitch. I eye the door.

"I came here to ask you questions, and I got my answers. I should go."

His reflexes are much faster than mine. He's on the floor in front of me, his hands splayed on my knees. His nose is bright red despite the clearness of his eyes.

"Wait! Something led you here, right? You wouldn't have come if there weren't a part of you that wanted what we had before. And what we had was damn good; you've admitted that yourself. We could go back to that."

I shake my head, almost hysterical. "No, we can't. Things are different; _we're_ different."

"Then we can be something even better." I close my eyes, leaning into his hands as they cup my cheeks. "I'm not ready to give up. When I said that you deserved better, I meant you deserved a better me, and I'm trying to be the best I can . . . for you. I don't want to give up on us . . . I can't."

I reach out to touch his skin, the sharp pokes from his stubble against my fingertips reminding me of feeling his lips against my flesh. I take the initiative to move to the edge of the couch, pressing my forehead to his. Everything I've missed and love about him surrounds me once again. "I don't want you to."

He sighs in relief. "Good, that's good."

"But . . ."

"No. No buts for now. How about we talk about this and move on in a traditional way for once? Consider the last two months to be a bad time apart while I try to make up for all my wrong doings?"

"Conventional?"

"Chocolates, flowers, the berry farm that I promised you, kind of conventional."

"Okay."

"Okay," he repeats.

And, I'm inclined to believe him; I'm inclined to believe that we can do this.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry about the delay! I turned 21 on the 4th (I still haven't had a chance to celebrate with my friends), had midterms and exams the last two weeks (and will have some more this coming week), and then my email started acting up. : I hope to be back on track after next week. :) **

**Leave me a review. :) **


	72. Chapter 72

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>I groan as Edward's lips press firmly against the skin of my neck, causing me to tremble. "This is bad," I argue, albeit not strongly.<p>

"I like being bad," he breathes.

It is exhilarating, even if this make-out session isn't devious by another's standard. The thrill of doing something so out of the ordinary, something that we both know isn't right at the time-but it doesn't feel wrong, which causes me to melt back into the sofa as Edward's lips resume their playful nibbles along the length of my neck.

His grip tightens, and his lips cover mine unexpectedly, and it makes all the nerves and all the butterflies in me explode. My hands slide up to curl around his neck, to hold him in place.

_This_ is the fumbling teenage experience that I never thought I wanted.

Seconds blend into minutes, just as the motions of his teeth turn into soft strokes of his lips. He's _different_. There is a new sense of serenity in his touch now, as if we have all the time in the world to be with each other. There are so many layers that I can see now-the hurt that he's healing from, the young adult that finally wants to do all the impulsive things, and the man who has been so defensive his whole life, now wanting affection.

We're relearning _each other._

I could compare him endlessly to a vampire-he had a strange fascination for my neck.

"We really should stop," I suggest when his hands slip above my waist. "I have to get home."

He groans. "If I have to." He pulls back without moving his body away from mine. His green eyes widen in mischief and the fingers that were previously inching up dig into my skin, and I recoil in retaliation.

"Don't," I warn him, schooling my expression into a glare.

He raises his eyebrows as he starts to wiggle his fingers, tickling me mercilessly. I shriek, trying to get away from him, but he grips his legs around my thighs.

A sharp push makes us lose our balance, and we tumble onto the floor, Edward breaking my fall.

"Ow." I _feel_ the sound more than I hear it, just before he lets out a loud laugh, his chest rumbling against mine.

I take advantage of the moment, moving off him and away, before he can catch me to grab my stuff by the door. "I'll see you soon?"

"Can't wait," he replies, leaning up on his elbows to stare at me through hooded eyes. I halt for a moment, the door open behind me as I take in the scene: Edward's hair is a mess, the sun causing it to look a deep red, as his face is cast into a dark shadow. It does nothing to cover the lazy smirk gracing his lips, or the slow descend of his eyes down my form in obvious suggestion.

My eyes trace over his face, drinking in every detail. This moment, this exact moment, is when I see the truth that brims between the two of us. There wasn't ever a way for me to not come back to him; he fixed what was ruined by my childhood, and he held the power to do the same damage, but he never would willingly-_intentionally_.

The slight stubble at his jaw makes him look impossibly handsome. He looks so angelic, yet devious, a combination that I would never have imagined him in.

And it makes my heart do stupid flips.

I run back to him to kiss him once more before shutting the door, laughing at his pout when I pull away, leaving him completely disheveled on the floor of his living room.

I check my phone for the time before heading back to the house.

Alice's sessions with Jasper have decreased, though he suggested I leave her alone for short periods of time to enable a sense of independence in her. It didn't stop me from worrying; I don't think any reassurance will.

These sneaky meetings with Edward weren't kept secret so much for anyone else's sake but my own. He's completely confident that we would work out, and as much as I'm enjoying the stolen moments, the racing heartbeats, and the giddiness of it all, there's that one impenetrable shield of trying for a conventional relationship.

That was Edward's reason for keeping the physical things at a reasonable line.

He's absolutely resolute in keeping self-control, but not from my lack of trying.

Edward has sent me edible arrangements at home, instead of flowers, and he'd watch movies with me on Yahoo's plug-ins because he decided I couldn't bring him home with me just yet. He would arrange little dates, which, at my insistence, always ended up with take-out at his place.

I counted them as dates; he deflected.

He even insisted that I make a Facebook just so he could list me as his girlfriend.

That 'Confirm' alone made me grin for two days straight.

Alice knew, of course, as did Jasper and Tanya, and Angela-the latter three from my Facebook account more than anything else.

And that social network was a whole new drama. People I vaguely recognize from high school friend me, even though the majority of them haven't held a single conversation with me. It's as if nothing has changed.

It all felt so _normal_.

I wasn't as surprised to find a friend's request from my dad, as I was to see he'd already been commenting on Edward's statuses for a few days.

My cheeks hurt by the time I get home.

I try to school my expression as I spot Alice sitting cross-legged, munching on a sandwich.

I collapse next to her. Her eyes don't stray from the television. "How was shopping?"

I touch my lips unintentionally, the fluttering of my fingertips reminding me a lot of Edward's lips.

"Never made it, huh?" The smirk on her face is so out of place that I have to do a double take.

"No," I sigh out.

"Wear one of the dresses that Aro gave you."

"I was planning on returning those tonight."

"He'll be disappointed," she points out.

"I haven't even worked a day for the guy," I argue. "Those dresses look expensive." With Rosalie's lack of response and the hospital not being able to work around my schedule, I called Aro three days ago, and took his job offer while profoundly thanking him. Yesterday, he called me to give me two dresses . . . designer dresses . . . as something to go on when I went shopping, as required by the dress code. I didn't want to look at the price tags.

"Maybe he's just really nice," Alice offers.

"That could be a possibility."

"Or maybe he's a sociopath who wants to charm and then harm you."

"Have you been watching Criminal Minds again?"

She puts the half-eaten sandwich away to give me a toothy grin. "Maybe. Reid used to be my childhood dream."

"You wanted to work for the FBI?"

"No; being the genius, knowing everything. The gun would be a perk. Didn't you imagine a future-you?"

Not a lot. I lived one day at a time, just hoping to be able to look ahead rather than back.

"Yeah," I whisper softly. "And right now is pretty close to that imagined future."

.

.

Is it possible for a dress to be both conservative and flirty? The knee-length with half sleeves, black dress is modest, and I love it, but the fabric itself is so tight that the lines of my bra show if I move in a certain way.

"You'll wrinkle it if you keep pulling at it," she scolds, slapping my hands away from the abdomen area.

_How did Aro even know my size?_

I sigh, blowing back my bangs. Per Aro's instructions, I'd dressed appropriate to the standards, going as far as tying back my hair in a bun, but letting the side bangs fall over my forehead.

I grab my purse and Alice grabs her Hello Kitty bag. I make sure she has the house key twice on the way to drop her off at Jasper's office for her appointment, before heading uptown. The nerves are getting to me, and I tap my fingers on the wheel. I don't need to care about what the other employees would think of me since Aro went out of his way to offer me this job, so I must've done something right.

The panic at doing something completely new, opposite of what I wanted to originally do, isn't present; there's relief at doing _something_. With my classes-and thus my degree-on hold, combined with the fact that I was no longer accumulating volunteer hours, I felt both helpless, and disappointed at the failure.

This, however, is different; it feels like a step forward rather than being stuck in limbo. I could use Aro's recommendation when I applied for Grad school, and the job as a reference.

Aro Volturi is, after all, a powerful name in the Art world, I suppose. He's one of the reasons SAIC is a well-known institute with an excellent art program.

I park in the back of the gallery, and use a temporary key card to get past the first door. The second door has a number password that the security texts in the morning.

The back of the building isn't as open as the front, but there are numerous rooms filled with art works, frames, and boxes of champagne.

I take a deep breath as I reach the end of the long hallway, knocking on Aro's door.

Opening it wide, he is grinning his pearly whites at me.

"You're punctual; I like that." He ushers me in, straightening his coat. His office isn't very spacious; there are folders on one of the walls as if suspended in mid-air, and the remaining walls are lined with quotes on the ceiling and framed paintings on the walls. It's the same color as the rest of the place-soft crème walls with a light shade of pink framing the doors.

He grabs a file from the wall before taking a seat in front of me.

I clutch the strap of my purse.

"Do you want to start with the contract or the tour?"

My mouth dries and I swallow nervously. "I thought this was experimental for a week."

"This week is. I'd thought we'd go over the contract, to 'sweeten' the deal."

"Oh."

"This first, then. I'll skim; full benefits, hourly wages, dress code, and your maximum number of hours weekly are all listed. Take it; give it back to me in a week. If it's signed, I'll have my answer."

I reach for the thickly bound papers, and shove them into my bag without so much as a glance at the first page.

He gets up again, smoothing down his tie. "Come, I'll show you around. You can leave your stuff in here if you'd like; I'll lock the door."

I tug the dress down subconsciously as he locks up and walks ahead of me. "The rooms in the back are the archivist and handler's responsibility; they have the chain of authority and access to some of our more valuable assets; you'll be in the front. When people come in, you introduce them to the art pieces displayed on the front wall."

He opens the door at the end of the hallway, and I find myself staring at the painted picture of Aro's wife. The structure of the room is all the same, except Aro's work is now on the long wall farthest from the front door, and the paintings for sale are the primary attractions.

"Offer anyone who comes in champagne; take them for a round around the room. Tell them the process of the artist in making the piece and the tools and equipment used. Ask them about their opinion of the work, and offer a bit of your own. You're going to try to make a sale pitch . . . try to push the idea that a particular picture would be lovely for a family room or a bachelor's pad."

"I'll be communicating with prospective clients personally?"

"Yes."

Oh boy . . . how could he not see my lack of social skills?

"If you decide to stick around, you'll have your own workroom in the back, and you will help me by contributing ideas."

Flickers of doubt begin to grow until they're loud enough for me to understand them, but I push them back and pay them no mind.

I _can_ do this.

At least I can give it a try; I owe that much to myself.

Aro shows me around the rest of the gallery, promising to extend my temporary access pass for the entire week. He introduces me briefly to the few people that are working: his personal secretary, the archivist, and conservators.

"Do you have any older paintings here?"

"No. Now that," he begins, his hand resting on my back to lead me to his office, "all rests at the school's museum. Very few pieces belong to me, and they go where I go. Are you interested in going down that route, Ms. Swan? Becoming a curator, perhaps?"

"I'm more comfortable with contemporary forms."

"I've noticed."

"Champagne, sweet talk, and sell are the motives, then?"

"All with the knowledge that you could be helping a struggling artist."

"Struggling?" I can't keep the doubt out of my voice. This building is bigger than it looks from the outside. The rent alone must be incredibly high, given the area it is in, the outstanding design and shining marble-esque floor. Given the empty state, the only way to accumulate that kind of money to keep this place running would be through very generous donors or expensive art pieces.

"Mhm. I like to give new and upcoming artists a chance, see how they fare here." He opens one of the desk drawers once we reach his office, getting out a thick paper to put in front of me. "That's your schedule; I had my secretary correlate the times you gave me on the phone. Double check them for me, please."

The schedule is easy to remember. I work an hour more than Alice's sessions with Jasper, and he's already agreed to help me by dropping her off at the house should I ever be in need

When I give Aro a nod in confirmation, he continues, "Jane, the other art assistant, will be here tomorrow to guide you through the computer and phone system. The hours will be divided among the two of you."

"Understood."

"She's a student teacher for Professor Marcus' this semester. You would've met her had you taken it."

I give him a toothy smile instead of explaining my reasoning.

He glances at his wristwatch. "I have a lecture at the Institute in a few minutes. Let me walk you out."

I gather my stuff, and he leads me in front of him again.

"I'm glad to see you wore the dress."

"I didn't get a chance to go shopping."

He smirks, his eyes twinkling. It makes him look years younger despite the permanent crinkle lines. "Speaking of, you can charge those on us."

I blink at him with wide eyes as he gets out of his wallet, a dark blue credit card with the gallery's name etched on it in silver.

"Every employee who works with customers has one."

"I can't-"

"Yes, you can."

I let out a breath, accepting the card. It feels heavy in my hand, and I carefully slide it into my purse. Awkwardness surrounds the two of us, and I fumble with the hem of my dress again.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he bids, holding the door that leads to the rear parking lot.

Once I get to my car, I all but shove the bag away from me and into the passenger's seat. The responsibility is weighing heavily. I've never had to worry about another's property before. I paid for whatever I needed with the cash I earned from working after school; I never borrowed money from Charlie or his credit card, so this feels like an enormous burden on my shoulders.

I didn't like it.

Much like how I didn't need the money from a job that I hadn't even worked at yet.

My phone beeps.

Seeing Edward's name makes my heart trip in my chest.

_Come over. I need to show you something._

I could always go shopping later. I don't even know where to buy my dresses. I could always go to the mall with Alice, and get a second opinion.

I should probably be worried that I could come up with a bunch of excuses in less than a minute just to go running to Edward. But that would change the fluttering butterflies in my stomach with dread.

And I'm starting to like these giddy feelings again.

The drive takes longer than it usually does despite the low amount of traffic, or maybe it just feels that way.

There's a lady sitting behind the window in the lobby today, though she barely glances my way.

Edward's door isn't locked, so I push it open, only for it to jam on something. I poke my head inside the halfway open door, and I am immediately blinded by white.

I gape at the sight of a tent stretching across the living room. Two ends of two sheets are tied and attached to the hook on the ceiling, and the leather couch and the coffee table are holding down the other end.

I straighten up, close the door, and shove my shoes off, leaving my purse on the dining table. There's a small opening between the sheets, so low that I have to crawl inside on my hands and knees.

As childish as it seems, the small cocoon surrounds me with warmth.

"Oh, my God."

The sudden voice makes me shriek, and I end up sprawled all over the floor. The sudden chill of the floor makes me wince.

"Ow," I whine. I get off my stomach and turn around, to find Edward holding a bowl of popcorn. He doesn't move, nor does he close his mouth. His shoulders are shaking, his expression a mixture of disbelief and humor.

I didn't know an expression like that was even possible.

"What?" I question self-consciously. It makes me want to throw on a hoodie and wrap myself in a blanket.

"What are you wearing?" he chokes out.

"New job; it has a dress code." I shrug. "You don't like it?" I tease.

"I like it too much," he growls. The fire in his eyes is now replaced by an accusing stare. "You're doing this on purpose!"

I widen my eyes innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about." It wasn't entirely my fault. It had been Edward who said that traditionally, we would have to wait until the third date for me to have a full night sleepover. I didn't agree, of course.

I tilt my head, pushing up from the floor and crawling inside the tent, fully aware of myasset that is on display.

"Oh God," he mutters. I barely hear it, and a small jolt of pleasure courses through me at his words.

"Is this what you did after I left?"

"I had time to waste," he explains nonchalantly. "And I missed you."

Warmth fills me; it's strangely pleasing to know about the effect I have on him.

He joins me a few moments later. I twist my lips to the side when I see him wearing sweatpants. I wish I were wearing something comfortable, too.

Unexpectedly, he grasps my cheeks between his hands to kiss me firmly, not letting me move away, or letting me deepen it.

"Hello, by the way." He grabs two pillows from the couch and leans them side-by-side. "Movie time."

"Which one?"

He nods towards the TV that's hung on the wall and the stacks of DVDs under it. The sheets wrap around the back of that platform. "Pick one. I'm going to go close the curtains."

Soon, nothing but the flickering of the TV is left. The absence of the outside light causes me to squint at the titles. There are interesting DVDs here, most of them a few years old. A flash of pink catches my eye.

"Find one?"

I turn back to Edward, a wide grin stretching across my face. "I haven't watched this in years!"

"The Pink Panther." He snorts, shaking his head at me as if I were doing something completely childish. Maybe vibrating like a kid on a sugar rush or Alice drowning in happiness did come off as that, I just didn't care enough at the moment.

We settle against the pillows as the movie starts. The air seems to thicken gradually, which makes me miss the sun. The tent feels small, yet large, simultaneously. It feels ridiculous to be stiff and awkward with the person who has touched me much more intimately.

I have both slept with and on Edward, so there isn't any reason for me to be excited about the simple gesture of him sliding his arm behind my shoulder and pulling me close.

Every breath he expels causes a warmth to go through me; every move of his index finger against my arm sends a shiver, and the smirk on his face shows every subtle flutter of his fingertips is completely intentional.

I try to even my breathing and concentrate on the movie, but it gets harder as Edward's arm drops to my waist, his hand coming around my side to grasp my hand. I curl my fingers with his. He has a way of sending my body into an overdrive.

"This feels different," I murmur softly. "Why does this feel so . . ."

"Intimate?"

"Yes."

"Because you're you, and I'm me. It's how we always were." He shrugs, and I feel the movement rather than see it.

It's ironic that a smaller tent makes me feel near to Edward on a different plane, while a larger living room made me feel caged. It's just the two of us sharing a space together while blocking out the world and all the outside drama.

I relax against him, tucking my head under his chin to enjoy both the soft crackle and laughter at Inspector Clouseau that is radiating between the two of us.

We're just us. It's such a simple explanation, but one that makes all the doubt and the tension dissipate. We're just Edward and Bella, two people who are trying to sort out the intense feelings between them.

When the credits roll, my stomach coils. I want to stay; I want to spend more time getting to know Edward all over again, but I have another person to take care of. Alice is probably already home by now, for half an hour at the most.

Edward already knows it without my having to tell him. "Stay." He pouts, and I break a little.

"Alice," I explain. "I have to get dinner."

"We could make something here and you could take it home." He looks so hopeful that I want to say yes. He gives me a slow smile, his eyelids dropping. All resistance breaks.

"Okay," I whisper.

"Okay." He stands up first, holding out a hand for me, and then moving the sheets apart so we can step out.

Being in the 'outside' world makes me itch to touch him again for reassurance, without the barriers of clothes between us. But I settle by winding my arms around his neck tightly to secure him to me, burying my face in his neck.

The smell of him, the feel of him is so familiar, and so warm and so safe. He makes mefeel safe. Those three little, yet powerful words are at the tip of my tongue when his front door opens, and we break apart abruptly.

"Bella?" Her voice is the same as I remember, but _she's_ not.

Esme.

Or new Esme.

I can barely recognize the woman standing in front of me, and that brings back all the hurt and reminder that I was left behind.

She's almost glowing. She looks healthy and happy, exactly the opposite of how I had become in her absence.

I straighten up, unconsciously pushing my bangs back. I ignore the sudden urge to smooth down my clothes as if I hadn't just been caught in an embrace with her son.

"I should go," I state, my voice surprisingly unwavering.

Edward's long fingers coil around my arm. "Bella, I didn't-"

"Alice is waiting for me and I don't want to _abandon_ her for too long."

Both Edward and Esme noticeably wince. It's irrational and childish of me, yet I'm not as bothered to apologize. I gather my keys and purse, and head towards the stairs. I don't want to chance running into Carlisle because I'd say something I would later regret, and especially not Rosalie and Emmett, because I'm not sure I could hold back my questions. Would I be able to handle them?

I shake my head, my legs hurting from the torture I put them through. The safety of my car lets me breathe easier. I pull away from the curb, refusing to use the mirrors to look behind me.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Leave me a review. :)<strong>


	73. Chapter 73

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

**The wonderfully talented **_SUNFLOWER3759_** makes this pretty; she's absolutely _amazing_. All mistakes are mine.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>It would be fun, they had said.<p>

Bullshit. I call bullshit.

There is nothing fun about being hit by little marbles of paint that hurt almost like real bullets! At least I didn't get the full impact; it barely grazed against my leg, but the stinging still _hurt_.

Tanya's crackle rings out through the dark room. Various lights strobe around the tall, rectangular space, making it difficult for me to place everyone else, while simultaneously making it easy to hide.

Had it not been for Edward.

I let out a scream when his hands grip my waist.

"Shit," he curses quietly, hauling us behind a foam wall. It shifts against our backs as paint balls barrage against it.

"I am never playing his game ever again," I mumble against his shoulder.

Edward moves to lie on his stomach, peeking his head out briefly before whispering in my ears, "Jasper is to your left and Tanya's on the right. I can't see Alice. They're expecting us to fire at them from here." He motions to the slender, wooden ladder. "Climb up, I'll distract them," he commands.

He's so serious about winning this game. It's one of the rare times I get to see his competitive side.

As soon as he's rolling out into the opening, the ridiculous red flares on his protection jacket standing out in the darkness, I grasp the gun tightly in one hand, using the other to pull myself up to the second level.

My heart hammers in my chest, the adrenaline rushing through me. There's a strange need brewing that makes me want to win.

I dodge behind more foam walls, stretching onto my stomach, pointing the barrel of the paint gun over the slight railing aiming at my target. It gives me a better view of the yellow lit jackets-Tanya and Jasper.

I can't find Alice anywhere, and the pink lights from the disco-esque ball hanging around the ceiling lead a false trail. She chose wisely.

I close one eye, looking through the night-vision scope ring for Jasper and Tanya.

It had been a strange day—a strange _week_. Not only are the three of them not mentioning my run in with Esme, but they're actually _deflecting_ from the topic altogether.

And it puts me on edge, because the first thing I expected when finding Edward on my porch after that night, was an excuse or an apology along with a request to go see Esme.

However, all he wanted to do was spend some of his evening hours playing _cards_ with Alice and me.

I wasn't buying it.

Then I was sure Jasper would mention something and try to convince me to talk to Esme, but nothing from him either.

So I ignored it to the best of my abilities. However, I have plaguing thoughts that this 'fun day' has been used as a cover for the secret talk they actually wanted to have with me.

I see a flash of yellow in the scope, and pull the trigger immediately.

Jasper shrieks.

The large scoreboard at the opposite wall brings the E/B team's score one point higher than the rest.

Praying that no one on the opposite team saw where the shot came from, I try to crawl on my back to the other foam fort, but it proves to be futile, so I crawl on my hands and knees.

So much for trying to be cool.

I twist my lips to the side, getting into position to scope out the area again. I can't find Alice anywhere, nor can I find Edward, but I do see Jasper sulking below the scoreboard, a large, red splat of red covering his abdomen.

Two more shots are fired, red ones, and I'm quick to guess they were to lure out Tanya. She's easy to spot as she rolls from behind one haystack to get to another. I can barely make out her leg that's off to the side, and I take my chance.

"Mother-!"

I pull myself to stand, the gun at my feet, and cheer loudly as Edward does the same from the first floor. There's a twisted satisfaction at winning; the wide smile that makes my cheeks hurt and leaves my heart thumping.

Sudden impact at my shoulder and stomach makes me recoil backwards, my eyes stinging with the on slaughter of tears, and I bite my lip to stop myself from verbally crying out.

"Fu—" The cuss word dies before it has fully escaped me.

The lights blind me for a moment. When I finally take a good look around me, I notice the mess and the splatters of paint, but most importantly, I notice Alice bouncing around with her arms outstretched towards the ceiling, straws of hay clinging to her hair and her clothes.

_Happy_.

She's happy . . .

I can't even scowl. I can't even be mad . . .

I climb down the ladder, careful until the last few steps where I jump off. I bound towards Edward, who is pouting.

"I can't believe we lost," he mumbles, his head tilted downward and looking so _dejected_ that it made me want to do anything . . . just to get that expression off his face.

"We'll win next time."

He cocks an eyebrow. "You'd do that for me?"

"Of course, as long as we use Nerf guns instead," I offer.

He snorts, shaking his head at me, and I shrug, still believing it to be a better idea. The places where the paintballs had hit me are still tender, and every time the fabric of my shirt brushes against that part of my skin, I recoil immediately and have to bite my lip to stop the whimper.

Tanya and Jasper are grinning victoriously; possibly because they only got hit once, whereas Edward and I got hit twice. Or perhaps because we didn't win either.

I point to them accusingly. "I am never listening to you again. Never ever, ever," I vow dramatically.

Tanya gasps mockingly. "But Bella, I could show you the world…" She throws an arm over my shoulder, using the other to spread it in front of her as if offering me something great.

Jasper shakes his head as if questioning why he associates with the either of us.

"Where were you hiding, Alice?" I ask.

"In the hay."

"How come we didn't see you?" Edward questions, curiosity lacing his voice, his sulking moment long over.

"I was buried neck deep in it," she replies giddily, her expression showing how proud she is of coming up with that plan.

"Cheater!" Jasper accuses.

"There were no rules!" she retaliates.

"But . . . It's common courtesy," he trails off feebly.

Alice's lower lip juts out in a pout. "You're only saying this to get out of treating me."

"Cheapskate," I agree.

Tanya's quick to join forces, and Edward gives Jasper a _look_, one that suggests him to go along with us because he'd never win.

Turns out, Jasper's a sucker for the puppy-dog look that Alice has so craftily mastered, and before long, we end up at a Baskin Robins close to both of our houses. It's a tiny place tucked into the corner of a plaza, and it's mostly empty when we go in.

Tanya wrinkles her nose at my choice of ice cream cone. "Mint? Who likes _mint_ ice cream? It's so…minty."

I roll my eyes. "And who likes vanilla? It's so boring!"

Jasper looks at me in mock hurt. "Hey!" he starts. "I like vanilla."

I open my mouth to take back my words before I realize that he's just joking. "My point exactly."

His mouth pops open in surprise, while Edward silently shakes beside me. They'd both gotten a mixture of chocolate and vanilla, whereas Alice had three, large scoops of sour rainbow. My teeth grind together involuntarily just imagining the taste of it.

"You wound me, Bella," Jasper claims, moving his head side to side as if in disappointment.

"Your ego can handle it."

He gapes at me. He narrows his eyes at me when I wink. He gives Tanya an accusing look. "You're a bad influence on her."

"And proud of it!" She announces.

We share a grin as we find our seats, Jasper and her sitting across from Edward and me, with Alice taking the lone seat by the third angle seat of the booth.

I can't deny Jasper's words. With Angela busy with her finals and stressing about a gallery internship, I had been spending more and more time with Tanya. She'd come over for dinners with Alice and me, or she'd stop by after work just to spend some time with Alice while I was at work. Even though Jasper and Edward did the same the majority of the time, it was different with Tanya. We'd gotten close, mainly because we had more in common than I'd previously realized.

She was a doctor's kid, and a doctor herself, and the society that they often hung out in left me to imagine her life to be filled with friends and proud family members. Turns out that like me, she's felt more alone in a large crowd than in an empty room. She didn't have friends that she felt comfortable enough to talk about, and she confided in me that apart from her immediate family, she never talked regularly with anyone. No one other than her father and mother even knew she was dating anyone, let alone serious in the relationship.

Even though I'd always considered her a friend, she became more than just Edward's childhood friend. She has become a really good friend to _me_.

This is how I can tell they're just buttering me up for something that'll be brought up later tonight.

Even though Tanya, Jasper, and Edward tried to collaborate their days off, the latter two could only take a few hours today. Since Tanya shared a day off with me, we'd made plans together to go to a spa. 'Beauty time,' she had called it.

Edward drops the three of us at Tanya's favorite place, Eden Spa. He's getting more and more comfortable with being affectionate in public, which isn't my favorite thing, but I can't stop the smile and the warmth that spreads over me when he hugs me close, pressing a kiss to my shoulder and whispering sweet nothings before parting. He carpools to the hospital with Jasper, leaving his car and car keys with me.

She'd already made appointments, and we're greeted immediately, and settled into pedicure chairs, Alice and Tanya sitting on either side of me.

I suddenly feel as if I'm locked in place with an interrogation about to begin.

"So," Tanya starts. "Edward tells me you had an interesting week."

"Can you paint my nails red?" I ask the lady working on my toes sweetly, pointedly ignoring the strawberry blonde boring a hole into the side of my head.

She nods with a smile, going back to the pointy tools on her two-foot tall table.

"How was Esme?"

Silence. She receives silence in return.

"Are you going to avoid this?"

"Yes, because I thought this was supposed to be a relaxing day."

"We're trying to make it just that."

"How?"

"You've been tense for the entire week," Alice comments softly, wiggling her toes every time the nail tech rubs the metal callus remover over her foot.

"Because I knew _this_ was going to happen. I knew one of you were going to ambush me into talking about…that." I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest and pout like a kid throwing a tantrum.

"It's only because we care about you, sweetie. You _need_ to talk about it."

"Did you plan this?"

Tanya looks guilty. "Only because we didn't want you to feel as though this was a therapy session, or that Edward was taking Esme's side."

I bite the corner of my lip. "That's why they chose you."

"Hey, no one tells me to do shit. I volunteered, I'll have you know." She tilts her chin up snobbishly, a sweet smile dancing on her lips. "Start talking, sweet cheeks."

"I don't know what they expect of me." I shrug.

"Who?"

"Edward, Esme, Emmett, Edward, Jasper, _you_?"

She eyes me warily. "Is that what's been eating at you?"

"Kind of."

"I've told you this before, and I'll repeat it again. You need to stop worrying about others, and you need to put yourself above others. You know why? Because you deserve it, and we'll follow you blindly. I've seen what Edward's family has gone through during these months, and I've been with _you_ while you went through everything. No one is going to judge you, and Edward's not going to do something stupid for whatever you decide. In the end, it's _your_ decision."

She continues, "We can only imagine what you went through; we can't step into your shoes and experience it. So, Bella, only you would know what you can handle, and what decision you can make. Just ignore everyone around you, and think about what _you need_."

"I _can__'__t_." I sigh, relaxing back against the chairs. "Don't you think Edward wants Esme and me to make up and get it over with? I'm sure it's not the best situation for him when I'm on the outs with his family. Emmett should've talked to me; I've been there for him, and when I needed him, he didn't even bother with as much as a text. I think about not talking to them, and I imagine how awkward holidays and dinners will be with Edward. I think about talking to them, and all I can see is me standing alone once again, and Alice hurt."

"But I won't be alone. I have you," Alice quips pleasantly, her expression completely neutral. She states it as if it's an obvious thing, as if I'm the only one she _needs_.

"There you go," Tanya says. "Emmett has his own reasons. Forget about him not telling you anything, but what about Esme? Shouldn't she at least get a chance to see you? You need to give the _two of you_ that moment."

"What if she relapses?"

"I don't think she will. You can kind of tell with the way she speaks so freely now."

I blanch.

"Your issue is with the fact that no one told you anything these months, right? You don't blame Edward—"

"No, because he was going through his own therapy. And even though I don't understand why, your father told him to not contact me until he was ready."

"My point is, you forgave him. I think you can do the same with Esme. Forget about Emmett and Rosalie and Carlisle right now, and focus on one thing at a time. You need to talk to Esme so the two of you can get whatever's on your chest out in the open."

"What if I can't?"

"You won't know until you try. Just think with a calm mind if you can handle a future where you never find out Esme's side of the story. If you can live with that, we won't bother you again on this subject, I promise."

Tanya holds up both her hands in a 'surrender' motion. "You're angry, we get it. And you have the right to be, but being in denial won't help anyone."

I bite back the defensive words.

I _am_ angry.

Angry that I tried my best to help out Esme, and no one from her family could even show the common courtesy of telling me Esme was okay, that _my_ suggestion of taking her to therapy hadn't made her emotional stability any worse.

And I still don't know if she's better.

Her physical appearance doesn't necessarily have much to do much with how she's _feeling inside_. The coil that's been wrapped around my heart this week seems to disintegrate and move towards my stomach, causing it to roll unpleasantly. Majority of the anger is replaced by _guilt_ . . . that I hadn't even asked Esme if she was okay.

That isn't like _me_.

Alice's hand grasps mine to give it a tight squeeze.

Tanya's expression relaxes when she sees the realization on my face. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't at least try to find out the cause of Esme's silence. I wouldn't forgive myself, because as much as I think staying away from her will protect _me_; I know that she has helped me already, by breaking down the walls that my mom's death made me build around myself. She began that the first day we met in art class. We had gravitated toward each other . . . we clicked. It was more her than me, but there was a connection; almost as if she knew we would help each other, as if she knew we'd need each other.

Times like these make me realize that Tanya is older than me. Her experience and her words to me aren't stated in a way to coax me into doing her following, but they prompt me to find what I'm comfortable with, and work around that.

I've never appreciated her more than I do right now.

"I should talk to her," I admit.

"Okay, good."

"Just . . . maybe later this week or something."

Her expression softens. "Whatever works best for you; _you_ would know."

"One day at a time," Alice says.

I squeeze her hand back to show my gratitude. She's been the one constant in my life since I moved from Yale. She's been the one person who hasn't left my side despite being in pain about her separation from Esme. Alice had grown to need her, too.

I've never seen Tanya sit through a serious talk without saying something obtuse or perverted at least once. It's all kinds of weird to experience, so I break the tension. "Being around Jasper has made you boring, you know. He has this crazy habit of breaking into the deeper meaning behind everything, even something as simple as stirring coffee. I feel like we just had a session like that."

She dissolves into peals of giggles. "Serious?" When I nod, she continues, "He does that to distance himself from giving his professional advice at the _littlest_ of things. Last night, he told me that we're all just pieces of cereal floating in life, trying not to tip over into the mouth of the subconscious."

The tension has dissipated, just like that.

Alice and Tanya were right—I _needed_ to have this talk. Maybe I was a _tad_ bit in denial, but the anger had dissolved into pieces, and the weight on my shoulder has lifted.

Now I just need to prepare a long, motivational speech to myself about having a talk with Esme.

I shouldn't feel this nervous about meeting her, but things have changed.

She and I have changed.

I owe it to the both of us to try to figure out the new us. I have to try to see if we can click as we had in class so long ago. Before I decide that, I just need to take a step back to focus on what would be the best outcome. I have to see the possibilities the future might hold. Can we once again become a puzzle from two different pieces, or will it always be just Alice and me?

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><p><strong>The euphoric feeling of being done with finals is unparallelled. I'm pretty sure I'm high from the happiness! <strong>

**Thank you for your wonderful words, wishes that I kick all my finals in the butt, and for reading! You're awesome and you always make my day. *hearts*  
><strong>

**Leave me some love. :)**


	74. Chapter 74

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

The wonderfully talented _SUNFLOWER3759_ makes this pretty; she's epically brilliant! All mistakes are mine.

Alerts for the last chapter didn't reach a lot of people, so please make sure you've read Ch 73.

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><p>I used to be able to deal with uncomfortable silences and awkward conversations. I would remain silent and bide my time, counting minutes until I could excuse myself politely or until the other person felt as if I was being difficult or just downright <em>uninterested<em>. Then they would leave, and the awkwardness would glide away with them. Granted, these scenarios were rare since there weren't many instances when people would communicate with me.

Teenagers are predictable like that. They flock to the ones who shine brightly rather than the wallflowers. As long as I kept my tattoos hidden, no one approached me in college; I blended in quite well.

I hate confrontations.

Being the focus of someone's attention is still uncomfortable, especially when Esme's staring at me as if I'm a ghost.

I twirl the thin, red straw in my coffee cup, opting to stare at the dark liquid rather than her inquisitive eyes. I had a speech prepared this morning after I'd given her a call to meet me at the Café by our school. The entire morning at work was spent thinking of topics to talk about, and how to discuss our 'problem', but now that we're sitting face to face, I'm blanking out. I'm finding it easier to look at the tittle-tattling people around us rather than focus on the big elephant in the room.

I'm a nervous mess because I _want_ us to go back to the way we were. I missed her before, but with her now sitting so near that I can smell the lavender from her lotion, I realize just how _much_ I've missed her.

I can't ignore everything she's done for me, from the plane tickets to helping me realize what _family_ is. Distance doesn't even matter where family is concerned; and it's not just thinking about the other members before you, it's also believing that they will do their best to try to understand your point. And Esme helped me see Mom's mental state. I knew that she didn't want to leave me, but she wanted to leave the pain and the slow death that cancer was throwing at her. I should've deduced it from how her artwork suffered. She lived and breathed painting, yet her interest in art lessened dramatically over the period of just a few weeks.

And instead of letting me bear the blunt of the guilt for severely misjudging my own mother, Esme gave me tickets to go _visit_ her.

I owed her more than I could ever repay.

I clear my throat, my heart hammering against my chest. "How are you?"

"Better," she answers sweetly, a serene smile on her face. Suddenly, she's no different. She's still the same woman I met in class, the same woman who tried to set me up with her son. I don't have to be nervous about anything, because she's still here . . . eager to get to the same point as me. Just her agreeing to the meeting should've eased my anxiety. I wasn't the only one wanting to go back to the happier times, and I feel that we still could.

"I'm sorry about being so rude," I whisper, still not meeting her eyes.

"I understand."

"That doesn't make it alright."

"I forgive you."

A public café is the worst place to have this conversation. I'd thought it would be a good thing to remind myself that I shouldn't cry, but the stinging at the corner of my eyes tells me otherwise.

"Tanya tells me you took a job," she comments lightly.

I let out a breath, blinking to clear my vision. "Aro invited me to his gallery, and then offered me a job. He gave me a weeklong trial, and I liked it."

"Tell me about it."

"It's . . . messy. Jane, his assistant, takes care of the clients at the moment, so Aro has me paint with him."

"There's a painting room?"

I nod. "Yeah, in the back." I notice the look on her face. "It's weird, isn't it? Working for a professor."

She grins. "No, not that. I can't imagine Aro being messy while painting. He's always so impeccably dressed.

"He wears this crazy apron that says, 'Getting messy takes courage'."

She lets out a surprised laugh, and the tension that had been wrapped like a suffocating blanket around us loosens, until it's just a comfortable warmth. I tell her more about working with Aro, and we don't even touch on Rosalie, Emmett, or Carlisle. And it works for us. We're concentrating on a comfortable topic right now—something that won't set either of us back any spaces.

But it's preventing us from making any progress forward, as well.

"Alice is thinking of starting school," I broach the subject a little closer to home.

Esme looks surprised, her eyes slightly rounding. "Which school?"

"Community college. She wants to take a few classes on creative design and psychology before deciding what she wants to do."

"Do you have her high school records?"

"No, but I can request them, though they won't do any good. Her senior year wasn't finished. And the application deadline for freshmen has passed, and no Universities will accept an incoming freshman unless it's right after high school graduation."

"I can ask around if you'd like." She looks hopeful as ever, and it's almost enough to make me want to say yes.

"You'll have to discuss that with Alice. She's been discussing classes with Jasper, and she's pretty keen on going to a community college first, just to get the hang of things."

"Will she want to talk to me?"

I nod my head. "She's missed you."

"I've missed her, too. I've missed both of _you_."

Before I can respond, my cell phone beeps with a text message, but I ignore it.

Esme finishes her tea and blots at her lips daintily with a tissue. I've always passed her mannerisms off as being graceful, but as I watch her now, every movement she's making is polite, calculated, as if she were the perfect socialite, as if she's falling back into that role of the perfect housewife before Vanessa was born.

It bothers me.

She pushes her chair back and gathers her things. "Seems like it's time for your work. I'll walk with you to your car," she suggests.

"I didn't bring my car."

"Then I'll walk with you to your house."

I open my mouth to protest, but she raises an eyebrow to dispel any arguments.

I swing the strap of my brown bag over my shoulder, my black cardigan hanging over the middle of it. I'd worn it in the morning over a sleeveless crème blouse because of the morning wind, but now the sun is streaming down with a glare. As soon as we step outside into the humid air, the heat lightly prickles at my exposed arms and legs, but I walk beside Esme briskly.

I'm still reeling in the thought of how Esme's completely normal habits are stinging me negatively as if I were looking at her for the first time.

"Does Carlisle know where to pick you up?"

"Yes, I'd told him when he dropped me off."

It was planned?

Something clicks.

She's deflecting. I almost smack myself in the face for not noticing it before, but Esme's practically ignoring any signs of the issues of her past and moving _back,_ before the fire incident, to how she used to be—or at least how I imagine Esme, the socialite to be. Her smiles are natural, and she has been genuine in her reactions and responses to the nonsense I spew out, but the way she's shying away from talking about the last months should've been as noticeable as a neon sign to me.

She's being so casual about it, too, as if she's expecting me to follow along with her reasoning.

I remain silent the entire walk back to my house because I don't know what to say. I want to shake her and demand her to talk to me about the last two months, but I also don't want her to relapse.

And I hate this feeling of needing to walk on eggshells around her.

I unlock my door, opening it before I invite her in. She smiles brightly as she heads immediately to the living room.

I excuse myself to the kitchen in the pretense of putting my bag down on one of the island stools. I immediately text Jasper, asking him if Esme has cried at all during her therapy.

_No, not since the time at the hospital when I had to keep her overnight_, is his response.

I bite my lip as I sneak a look at Esme. Then, determined, I make up my mind.

It could be a bad call to try to push her into speaking, but keeping everything inside couldn't be healthy. I know it wasn't for me. And she's already lost so many of her years to her grief, that I refuse to let her lose more because of her stubbornness.

I plop down next to her. "Have you been painting recently?"

She shakes her head, her hands folded neatly in her lap. "Not any pictures. Carlisle and Emmett built me a gazebo by the pool, so Rosalie and I have been painting that."

"Is that why she doesn't go to work?"

Esme tilts her head to the side. "She's been keeping me company at home, yes. Edward didn't tell you?"

My throat closes up. "Was he supposed to?"

Her brows come together. "I—we thought he would have mentioned it to you."

"I barely just got back in contact with Edward; I haven't talked to any of the family before that for more than two months."

"What?"

"Yeah." My voice doesn't even sound like mine anymore. Did Edward lie to me? Were they all just playing a big game with me?

Esme's breathing gets shallow, and her fingers twitch towards her purse. "I think Carlisle's outside."

"I didn't hear a horn."

"Oh."

She gnaws on her lip, her eyes darting everywhere but towards me.

"Esme?"

"Hmm?"

"What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" She's trying to be nonchalant, yet her voice quivers a little, giving her nervousness away. There's a huge chunk of information missing here, _I'm_ missing something.

I try to keep my doubts about Edward at bay because he'd never lied to me before, so I have no reason to believe he would do so now.

But he did lie about Esme's condition.

For family obligations.

I shake my head to clear my mind.

"You're hiding something from me. All of you are. And I'm extremely tired of it, so can you please just tell me what's wrong so I know whether or not I should hit Edward on the head for lying to me?"

Her eyes glisten a little. "It's not his fault," she whispers, so low that I strain closer to hear it. "It's all my fault, _my fault_," she repeats.

I reach out to grasp her hand, but she pulls away before I can.

"No! Don't you _see_? It's _my_ fault you were miserable!" A tear rolls down her face, and she wipes at it angrily, only causing more tears to slip out.

"Esme, it wasn't _your_ fault."

"It was! _I_ told them to stay away from you!" She blubbers, her hands shaking as she reaches up to cover her face.

I stare at her. "What—why?"

I'm not even sure I want to know the answer. I've never _hurt_ as badly as this—not even when I'd closed myself off to being receptive to other people. I got through days without wondering about someone other than myself, and what they thought of me, or why they suddenly weren't talking to me. I had Alice, and I had been okay.

But I hadn't been happy.

Am I now?

Are all these complications and doubts that I still don't particularly understand, worth it?

"I didn't want _my_ issues bringing you and Edward down. I thought that maybe if we kept our distance, Edward and you would be okay."

I let out a humorless laugh. "Did you talk to _Edward_ about that?"

She shakes her head, her eyes downcast. "I pushed him away. I thought I could make things better, I thought I could make up for the time lost by giving him the one person that truly makes him happy. _You_."

"And in the process you took apart everything." I close my eyes as they burn with hints of tears.

"I didn't mean to," she cries out. "All my life, I've never taken control of _anything_. I didn't pursue my studies, or a career because I was taught to be a perfect wife, one who managed a family and a household. And I never stood up to Carlisle for Edward. I should have. I wasn't in the right mind, but I was still _there_. I'm not strong, Bella, I can't handle things the way normal people do—the way _you_ do. All I wanted to do for once was not to affect somebody else because of _my_ issues."

They hadn't been _playing_ me. They'd been distancing themselves from each other for so long that they don't even know how to communicate anymore. Esme had been acting like a martyr. The explanation for their unreturned calls is so simple that it's almost unbelievable.

I wrap my arms around her. Her shoulders shake, and I don't let go until she's calmed down and no longer crying or trembling.

"You should've talked to us," I whisper softly. Her features twist. "And it's not just you. _All_ of you need to talk to each other before you decide what's best. You need to be able to communicate, and if you don't like an idea, you need to speak up."

"They all did, even Carlisle. They told me it wasn't right, but I wouldn't listen to them. It's all my fault."

I squeeze her shoulder. "I forgive you."

Three simple words, the same ones she used to make me feel better do the trick with her. She sags with relief, her expression morphing into a relieved one.

I'd gotten my answer.

Somehow, somewhere along the line, I'd gotten to thinking of Esme as a mother figure to me, and her family became mine. They are worth all the doubts; they're worth all the pain because the feeling of serenity and strength that's draping over me is unparalleled. Everything is worth it for this feeling of _belonging_. Even though there are still so many things wrong with Esme's reasoning, and a lot of issues to work on, I can deal with it. She'd become my family in this short time, and there isn't even a question that I'd hold a grudge against her for doing something that she thought was best for Edward and me.

I question her about everything. About their new gazebo, even though I can't imagine how it looks because all they have is a pool and concrete in the backyard. I ask her about Vanessa, and with slight reluctance, she begins to tell me that many of the moments of the last year are blurry, but she remembers her little girl with clarity.

Then she asks my help with Vanessa's room. She wants to pack up the unused clothes and the little trinkets to donate to a charity. And she requests so without shedding a tear, though her eyes do get a little misty and red.

When I invite her to stay for dinner, she doesn't hesitate to say yes, confiding in me that she'd already told Carlisle not to pick her up until she calls.

She may have had the same idea as I had, of how we wanted this afternoon to proceed.

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><p>AN: Thank you for reading!

I hope your 25th and your New Year's celebrations were awesome, and that this brand new year brings you happiness and smiles.

Leave me a thought; it makes my day brighter.


	75. Chapter 75

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

The wonderfully talented _SUNFLOWER3759_ makes this pretty; she's epically brilliant! All mistakes are mine.

* * *

><p>Esme is stubborn.<p>

Stubborn enough to talk me into baking cookies with her, simply because she wanted to show me her 'improvement'.

I wasn't questioning it in the first place, so it's downright unnecessary.

Her cheeks and nose are still red, but she flits around the kitchen energetically and doesn't show a hint of her earlier meltdown. Her words from earlier resonate through my mind. I don't think she's weak. If she had been, she wouldn't be able to go near a stove without breaking down.

I call Jane to beg her to fill in for my two-hour shift, and after promising to sacrifice a weekend to cover for her, she relents, and promises to work it out with Aro.

It's kind of easy to fall back into the familiar routine with Esme, as if no time has passed between us, and it's a relief. Awkward silences would make me fidgety, and it might give the wrong message.

The only difference is, her and I are on the different sides of the island.

The house bell rings, and I straighten up unintentionally.

I know who it is—Esme made the call after asking for my permission but the sudden rush of emotion and the urge to crawl under a bed is unexpected. Maybe slamming a door in Emmett's face would help rid me of these feelings.

I want to tell her that I've changed my mind. I don't want to face Emmett because this day is becoming complicated, more than I had originally planned for it to be this morning. At the same time, I want to face him head to head; I don't want to give off the indication that I'm holding whatever is in the past over their heads, nor that they have the power over me to scare me inside my own home.

I refuse to let the creeping fear win.

I straighten up, holding my head high as I open the door, one eyebrow cocked as Emmett visibly shrinks in front of me.

"You're in big trouble." I cross my arms over my chest and tap my foot on the ground impatiently.

His eyes round comically, and I suppress a smile that threatens to break free.

Edward chuckles, patting his older brother on the shoulder before pressing past him, towards me. He kisses my forehead in greeting, and I almost falter in my 'tough' stance. His sweet little gestures make my heart do stupid things. I glare at Emmett once Edward is gone from view.

"I brought cake," he says as if it's going to gain him entry, but his hands are empty.

"Cake!" Alice yells behind Emmett excitedly as she closes the Volvo's passenger side door, bouncing over to us.

"The cake is a lie," I tell her sadly, shaking my head, and Alice's expression immediately drops.

"No," he hurries on. "I have it in the car. I'll go get it."

My eyebrows climb upward as I watch him rummage through the passenger side.

I cross my arms over my chest once he proudly presents a round, chocolate cake, the middle of it sloshing with melted cookie dough ice cream. "Why did you leave it in the car?"

Pink flares across his cheeks and he digs his toe into the ground adorably. He tilts his head down as if to become smaller, and it becomes impossible for me not to melt.

"I didn't want to chance you throwing it at me."

I let out a laugh, amusement flaring inside me. "I wouldn't waste a perfectly good dessert," I reply dryly.

Alice doesn't wait, doesn't say anything as she makes a grab at the cake and flies inside.

Admittedly, I'd been worried about her reaction at seeing Esme again, but she's completely nonchalant. And it's not acting, either.

Emmett twists his lips from side to side "I take it I'm forgiven by the acceptance of the yummy goodness?"

I shrug up one shoulder, regarding him coolly. "If you think that's all it takes, by all means you're forgiven."

His face falls, and guilt burns me from the inside. However, I hold my ground. "I made a stupid mistake," he starts, fidgeting in his spot. The black shirt he wears makes his curls appear even browner than usual. His eyes are warm, yet not pleading. "And I'm willing to do what you need in order to get back in your good graces."

"No excuses?"

"I wouldn't insult you with any. You already know the truth; we have a problem with communication, but we'll work on it, I guess. Four months doesn't do much when all we've done is defend our actions rather than face them head forth."

His words trigger something inside of me. I wrap my arms around his neck tightly, surprising him as he doesn't immediately respond. I'd never really initiated a hug before; I don't even know when I'd gotten so touchy-feely, but the moment called for it. I'd missed him and his voice and the way I felt so protected and comfortable when he was around.

"Just don't do it again, or I'll come after you with a paintball gun."

He pulls back and looks so surprised that I burst into laughter. "You have a paintball gun?"

"I know where to acquire one if I have to. But I won't need it, right?" I raise an eyebrow.

He gapes at me, horror covering his face. "You went to a paintball arena, didn't you—and without _me_?"

I roll my eyes, tugging him into the house. It isn't my first spring in Chicago, but the weather this year has been particularly unpredictable and nasty. It's changed from cold morning chill to smothering humidity of the afternoon to accumulating dark clouds painting the sky in angry black and grey streaks. I glare at it as if to shove them apart, and slam the door shut against the icy air.

When I turn back to the chaos in the living room, I marvel at how just this morning, I'd been doubting Esme and Emmett, yet here they are, and I'm _smiling_. I promptly forget about it, because I'd never actually been the one to hold a grudge, and I'd probably end up analyzing whatever this is later anyway.

I snicker as Alice attempts to smother Emmett in chocolate with her finger, but he just stands up on his toes, and she can't reach his face.

My stomach growls at the prospect of food after skipping lunch, so I pad to the kitchen to grab some plates and forks. I don't need Alice on sugar high, anyway; she'd force me to stay awake with her and watch reruns.

Cold hands find a place on my hips, and I shriek, nearly dropping the plates, but Edward manages to catch them in time.

"You should wear something thicker," he advises warmly.

"_You_ should stick your hands in front the fireplace."

He gives me an adorable grin when I turn around in his arms, and I can't stop the giggling that bursts forth at the streaks of chocolate all over his cheeks.

"Alice," we chorus together.

"Did she get any of the cake in your mouth?"

"I tried, but apparently, that wasn't her intention," he replies dryly. He tilts his head down to trail his nose along the side of my cheek, causing my heart to flutter against my ribcage. "Clean me up?"

My lips find his jaw immediately, and I dart my tongue out to lick a path along one of the streaks. The sharp intake of breath and the tightening of arms around me send shocks of giddy pleasure through me. His reactions cause me to lose all doubts, and I pepper his face with soft kisses, dragging along the chocolate.

He makes a noise in his throat.

My hands fist his shirt when I reach the corner of his lips, his heart pitter-pattering, matching mine and—

"Ahem."

We jump apart, my cheeks burning and Edward's ears bursting a dark pink.

Emmett raises his eyebrows at us, but he can't conceal the mirth shining across his expression. "I was just looking for some silverware . . ."

"Right," I squeak out, embarrassed. "Uh, here." I thrust the silver box with leaves adorning the sides to stop the forks and spoons from falling out towards him. He curls a finger around the handle and pops it out of my hand.

"Go back to . . . whatever it was you were doing." He holds up his free hand, backing out of the door as I watch him unamused.

His laughter echoes back at us from the living room.

Edward shrugs adorably in explanation, pressing into me to grab the napkins from the counter.

"The Chicago Botanic garden is hosting a music night next month," he brings up casually.

"Oh?"

"We used to go every year." He doesn't have to tell me a specific date anymore."We called in the reservations yesterday, and I have an empty seat next to me."

"Who are you taking with you—Tanya?" I tease.

He pouts. "She's abandoned me for Jasper."

I gasp dramatically, "That traitor."

He chuckles, the vibrations reverberating through me. "It's the first Friday of next month. Will you come with me?"

Silly man, doesn't he realize I can't refuse him anything when he asks it so sweetly?

"Of course."

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><p>AN: Thank you for reading!

Good news: The next chapter is done and sent off. :)

Leave me a thought; it makes my day brighter.


	76. Chapter 76

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to its respective owner.**

The wonderfully talented _SUNFLOWER3759_ makes this pretty; she's epically brilliant! All mistakes are mine.

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><p>"We need to get you heels." Her eyes assess me head to toe with a critical eye, her lips tugged into a frown.<p>

I snort. "I'll end up in the hospital within minutes."

Jane huffs, putting her fists on her hips, clipboard leaning against her side. She's impossibly short, more so than Alice. She doesn't even reach up to my shoulders, and the sight of her trying to intimidate me is terrifyingly hilarious.

"Have you ever even tried?"

"Yes."

She raises an eyebrow.

"I _have_!" I defend. "It just really hurts."

She smiles in triumph. "You'll get used to it. Besides, it'll make your ass, and your outfit look even better."

I sputter in shock, my eyes widening. She just laughs, shoving me to the side with her hips to do inventory.

She's gotten comfortable around me compared to the first day we were introduced. Too _comfortable_, I'd say. It's a bit awkward to hear crude words from her mouth when her voice is so sweet and gentle, almost like a little kid's. At least until the perverted statements spew out.

"Plans tonight?" she inquires.

"Alice wants to watch the Cinderella movies while filling her college applications."

"I've heard so much about her not to know her face."

"Is this your way of inviting yourself over?" I tease.

"I'd make Alice cry with my anti-love parade."

"Who are you going out with if you're anti-love?"

"Just because I'm anti-love doesn't mean I don't have needs."

I make a face, causing her to laugh.

"You're covering for me this weekend, right?"

I nod, leaning on the tall counter with my elbow, resting my chin on my hand. "This weekend. I'm off the next one."

Her mouth drops open in surprise. "Aro gave you the weekend off?"

I nod.

"That bastard! I always ask for one, but he never gives me anything!"

"He's only bending to my requests to entrap me permanently," I deadpan. I'd come to learn that the only way to knock Jane's irritation off was to go along on whatever path she was on with humor.

Her lips twitch as she fights a smile.

"How did you come to work for him anyway?" I ask curiously.

"I was fresh meat, and Aro didn't tell me I would have to work weekends," she starts. "But it grows on you. I learned that working at a gallery wasn't at all how I imagined, and I had more fun in the work rooms in the back than I ever did working at a coffee shop. The fact that I can buy all my clothes with the company credit card is a big bonus."

"So you'll continue working here after you graduate?"

She shakes her head. "Aro recommended me for New York's Salute Tribute gallery, and they offered me a job."

I grin at her. "When did you apply?"

"I never did. I'd told him once that I wanted to move away from here—I hate this horrid weather," she explains in between, "and he found me the job. He comes off as this empowering figure, but he's really a big softie. He's got an eye for deducing people and what they want to achieve in life, even if they don't know it."

"Isn't New York worse in the weather department?"

"Yes, but it's _New York_."

I pause. "Have you ever _been_ there?"

"No, but I'll live. I was born to be a New York. I've already got the fast pace and rudeness down!" She winks.

I consider telling her that it's a beautiful city, and while the people on the streets were hurried, they weren't _rude_; they just looked determined to get out of the cold air and to their destination, but it would be opening a can of worm. She loves gossiping, more about boys than anything else.

She finishes up her work, signing her name on the bottom of the papers before putting them into a large, thick envelope.

She points a long nail at me. "We're going shopping for heels, and you can't complain about it." She struts off towards Aro's office, her heels clicking in the otherwise quiet room.

I head back behind the desk to continue updating the gallery's webpage about the artists we are featuring at the upcoming event.

Jane's words spark something—Aro _had_ been intimidating at first. His entire presence required attention the minute he steps foot into the room. The way he usually leads someone into the room gives him entire control, and maybe that's what he's used to, but I'd never gotten that kind of indifference from him.

He'd been nothing but helpful and accommodating toward me.

And I had to admit—I _do_ like working here more than I thought I would. I'd gotten used to the dresses and pencil skirts, and I could walk around and be comfortable in my own skin. I'd grown accustomed to the fact that they were flattering to the figure and raised my confidence.

I no longer felt like this was a world out of my reach.

Maybe I ought to give the heels a try; Jane hasn't led me wrong yet.

.

.

"We should host a party," Alice mentions offhandedly as she sits in front of me.

I hold up half a section of her hair and try to make it even with the other ponytail. She'd refused to go to a salon to cut her hair, but the ever growing long strands fall all over her face. They're uneven, but she refuses to cut them until they've grown a little over shoulder length.

That and the ponytails enable her new obsession with bows. She'd gone through an obsession with Disney shows and entwining them with logic, and now to sparkly, glittery bows. She didn't care if the glitter flicked everywhere and ended up attached all over my black, pencil skirts. She would swish her hair with a grin and bounce happily. Even if she didn't have chocolate, she'd still be hyper.

I put a matching black bow on her right ponytail, standing up to flicker my pajamas clean.

"Kind of like how Jasper and Tanya are doing."

"But they're doing it because they're moving in together," I point out.

She twists her lips to the side. "Then I'll throw a party when I move out."

I blink back at her, my chest tightening. I make a noise in my throat. "Move out?"

"Closer to college."

Is this how Charlie felt when I told him I was leaving Forks and him behind to pursue my degree elsewhere? I'd been feeling almost choked up and _proud_ the last few days when Alice printed out applications to various colleges and transportation schedules that link our house to them easily, along with FAFSA forms.

Now I just want to shove them under a pillow until _I_ feel Alice is ready to move out.

"You're not going anywhere."

She frowns, hurt crossing across her expression. "What?"

"I mean, why would you want to leave?" I redirect, letting out a sigh.

She shrugs her tiny shoulders, tilting her head to the side. She prances towards the kitchen, gathering bowls and spatulas. I follow after her, albeit detachedly. I've heard her words, but I'm having trouble registering them. I should've known this was coming, should've expected it, but I'd never thought her wanting to go back to school would bring her need to experience it fully.

Horror burns deeply into me as I imagine Alice navigating through co-ed dorms or apartment parties.

_No. Nope_. I'd faster ground her.

"Besides, being the third wheel wouldn't be all that fun when Edward moves in."

I choke on air. "That's your _reason_? Nothing's going to happen, and even if it does, it doesn't mean that you have to leave. This is your house just as it is mine."

"Bella," she coos sweetly. "I'm _ready_. I know I am. And when Jasper gives me the go, I want to move out; that doesn't mean that I don't love living here. I love you and I love this house; it's the first stable thing I've received, and I don't say it enough, but thank you for everything."

Alice's getting everything ready for cookies and brownies as if it's a casual talk about a small thing, yet I'm freaking out and trying not to show it to her.

"And I _need_ to move out. I've never had a chance to make my own decisions. Going to college and studying what _I_ want to study won't hit me until I go out on my own. I feel like something's going to swoop in and stop this entire process."

I move around the island and grasp her hands to halt her movement. They shake in mine.

She's too stiff. Alice isn't one to be oblique with her words; she always keeps eye contact and I'm so used to her blunt statements that I've missed the lingering fear underneath her words until just now.

"Are you afraid of your parents coming back?"

Her wide eyes meet mine. "It's possible, isn't it? Just because they haven't visited me since I've moved here doesn't mean they won't know that I'm out." She falls against me, her tiny body curling against mine as if seeking protection. "I keep feeling like I'll open the door one day and they'll take me with them, forcing me to become whatever they need me to be for their gain."

"They won't be able to take you with them this time," I tell her fiercely. "I won't let them."

"I know. And that's exactly why I need to move out: to believe that _I_ can stop them myself. If I keep hiding here, behind you, I'll never reach that point."

It's the most I've heard her talk. I don't want to cry; I refuse to, but the stinging at the corner of my eyes, alerts me that I am doing just that.

I can't deny her anything, especially when I understand her so clearly. So I think logically.

"How will you pay for this apartment?"

Alice's face falls, and I immediately want to rectify my mistake just to make her smile again.

"I didn't think about that."

"How about we look for a job whenever Jasper gives us the go, and then think about moving out?"

She beams up at me as her arms loosen around me. "You'd do that for me?"

"Every milestone, Alice; I'll be with you every milestone."

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><p>AN: Thank you for reading!

Bad news: My school has started with a full class load. :/ BUT this will be an outlet, so I'll be writing every free time I get! (Just a few more chapters left anyway :) )

Leave me a thought; it makes my day brighter.


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